#Chocolate transcendence

[nufinka-the-bunny-angel]

My poor boy is melting, the cake was good tho-

[lovestruckprincess]

~ * Tag Dump * ~

[bittersweetyrn]

I think the whitest thing about me is how much I like cheese

[fragilefable]

nobody's son, nobody's daughter.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ minors DNI) Summary: When you and Joel get separated the night of the outbreak, you spend the next decade searching for him. Just when you've given up— a miracle occurs. Warnings: heavy angst, canon typical violence, character death (sarah), discussions of grief, very brief mention of suicidal ideation, alcohol used to cope, depression, suggestive language, lovers reunited, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Word Count: 6.6k Currently Playing: Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey ♪

A/N: This piece has been months in the making, hours of rereading and rewriting. This is my love child. I'm possibly (definitely) planning a part 2 with smut... ;) I am a full-time college student who unfortunately has other responsibilities, so please be patient with me. My first lengthy piece in a while, so please be kind & enjoy my doves!

Sleep was the most convenient temporary escape available in the post-cordyceps world. Oftentimes, if you were lucky enough, with sleep came dreams—glimpses of a divine, utopian life. One without spores or fungi of any kind. There was, however, always the chance that with it came nightmares—Polaroids of the past, the uprising of the infection. Mothers clutching bloodied children, decaying men ripping open flesh with their savage teeth, and, worst of all— losing Joel Miller. 

Joel was... everything—neighbor, friend, lover. Joel hated that word— laughed every time it managed to escape your lips in a hushed whisper, but that was what you were to each other. It transcended explanation. You'd moved to Austin after college in hopes of starting over, a clean slate. Instead, you'd stumbled upon a single father and his then 11-year-old daughter. You fit into their life like the missing puzzle piece— you completed them. Sarah needed a motherly presence in her life. There was only so much Joel could do for the blossoming young woman. 

And Joel— Joel never knew what he was missing until you came along. Someone to be able to rely on, to love unconditionally, a fixed constant. To say he fell head over heels was an understatement, but it became so much more than physical attraction. It became something far more profound and terrifying— love. The kind of love only poets write about. It was fierce, at times agonizing. That's what made losing him all the more heartbreaking. 

You were with Sarah the night of the outbreak— Joel's birthday. Lounging around in plaid pajamas, waiting for Joel to get home from work. Despite being exhausted, Sarah was beaming with pride over her birthday present for her dad— his broken wristwatch now repaired and refurbished. You smiled mischievously, "And just where did you get the money to fix this, young lady?" Sarah grinned slyly, "Just lyin' around, it's not like he noticed it was missin'!" Hours passed, you and Sarah slumped against the couch: Fast asleep, soft snores escaping mouths, drool dribbling down chins. 

The sight made Joel's heart quaver in his chest. Kicking off his muddied work boots, he carefully plopped down in between the two sleeping figures, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. "Hmm. You're home," you stirred awake, drowsy eyes met with a welcome sight: Weathered tan skin and dark chocolate curls. "Hey, Darlin'. You outta head up to bed. I'll be up soon." You nodded faintly, planting a chaste kiss on Sarah's forehead: "Goodnight, sweet girl." 

You fell fast asleep as soon as your body hit Joel's mattress, his scent engulfing you like a blanket of safety— a shield of sorts. The vague smell of sawdust and pine soap conquered your senses, a heavenly combination. An hour later, you felt the bed dip down, strong arms circling your waist.

Frantic hands shook you awake, calling your name weakly: "I can't find Dad. N' somethin' weird is goin' on outside." You sat up, Sarah's urgency pulling you from your hazy half-asleep state. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll call him. Go back to bed." Sarah ignored your suggestion and sat beside you as you reached for the landline. The call went to voicemail without hesitation: "Huh... That's weird." 

Sarah grew more anxious by the second, "I'm gonna go check the driveway for his truck." Sarah shot up from the bed, feet pattering down the stairs. "Sarah! Wait, I'll come with-" Throwing on your Converse, you hastily ran out after her. Your tired eyes scanned the pavement but found no signs of Sarah or Joel's truck. The Adler's door was wide open; you huffed: "Sarah?" 

The Adler's house was pitch black and eerily quiet, the family's dog nowhere to be seen: "Sarah? This is trespassing!" Tiptoeing through the living room, you halted at the sight of a ruby trail— blood. Grotesque, wet noises filled the previously silent house: "Sarah?" The teen bolted out of the kitchen, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the front door: "Run!" Mrs. Adler scrambled after Sarah, mouth dribbling crimson liquid, no longer bound to her wheelchair. 

"What the fuck–" Sarah's grip on your hand tightened as you passed through the door and stumbled onto the pavement. A pair of familiar brown eyes scanned Sarah's figure and then yours: "Sarah? Darlin'? Are ya'll ok-" Joel's words were cut off when Mrs. Adler dashed through the front door, her figure lunging for you. 

Joel struck the side of her head with a wrench as you made a feeble attempt to crawl away. His strikes were lethal, and yet the elder kept thrashing against the ground. "Joel, stop!" Only then did you notice Tommy, Joel's younger brother, behind you, coaxing Sarah into the truck. 

Joel exhausted Mrs. Adler with one final swing, dropping the bloodied wrench beside him and wiping his shaky hands on his jeans. His gaze softened when he saw your timid frame— shaking and unmoving. "Darlin'... Baby, are you okay?" His hands found your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on a patch of exposed skin. You hesitated; Joel had just killed Mrs. Adler in cold blood— but she tried to kill you and Sarah first. 

Joel hurriedly hoisted you to your feet, "We gotta go, okay baby? It's not safe here." You clambered into the backseat beside Sarah, the girl's arms thrown around you tightly. Kissing the crown of her head, you reassured her: "It's okay, sweetheart, everything's okay." 

Neighbors began to exit their homes, baffled and disturbed by the sight of Mrs. Adler's bloody, lifeless body lying in the yard. Someone called out for Joel. He immediately instructed her to go back inside and lock the doors. Tommy beckoned Joel into the car, exiting the culdesac and taking off towards the highway. After a fleeting moment, you mustered up the courage to ask, "Joel, what's going on?" Tommy replied, "They're sayin' it's a virus- some kinda parasite." Sarah spoke up, tears forming, "Are we sick?" Joel shot the idea down immediately. 

Tommy and Joel continued bickering, your eyes glued to the road ahead: "Joel! Look- It's Jimmy's place." The two-story farmhouse was completely engulfed in flames, unrecognizable. Your hands clung to Sarah, burrowing her head into your neck: "It's okay, sweet girl." Police sirens rang out through the darkness, interrupted by soft pleas for help. A family was stranded on the side of the road, begging for aid. Tommy began to slow the car. "What're you doin'?" Joel firmly questioned. Tommy shot back, "Got a kid, Joel." 

"So do we. Keep drivin'," Joel spat. Tommy sped back up, eyes searching Joel's for an explanation: "Somebody else will come along." As Tommy approached the interstate, the sounds of disgruntled drivers grew louder: "Fuck! Everybody had the same fuckin' idea. I can't get through this." Joel gripped the dashboard, "All right, all right. Let's think it through," he paused for a moment, "All right, take the field! We cut across, and we pick up on the west side." Tommy steered right, the truck jerking on the uneven terrain. As he drove over the hill, helicopters and tanks came into view, "Shit. Fuckin' army." 

Sarah peered out from behind the seat, "Isn't that good?" Your voice was filled with hesitation, "That's the highway we need to get to." Joel and Tommy argued, eventually continuing toward a town just east of the highway. Sarah stilled, "Maybe it's everywhere. Maybe there's nowhere to go." A booming roar erupted, Tommy twisting his body to get a better look at the night sky: "What the fuck?!" Commercial airplanes flew overhead, merely hundreds of feet above the ground. You instinctively covered Sarah's ears with your hands, eyes wrenching shut at the deafening rumble of their engines. Tommy swerved to avoid a police blockade ahead, turning into a nearby alleyway. 

The streets were flooded with screaming civilians, running in every direction— no one sure who exactly they were running from. A hoard of people fled from inside a movie theater, causing Tommy to shift the truck's gear into reverse. "Dad?" Sarah called out, "Dad!" Joel turned; an airplane was rapidly descending— heading straight towards town, "Shit. Move!" As the plane made contact with the ground, a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke bloomed, causing Tommy to lose control of the truck. 

A strong hand shook your leg, "Darlin'? Stay right there, don't move." Your side ached, cool liquid flowing from your head. Beside you, Sarah quickly came to, her eyes shifting to the figure hunched outside of the flipped car, clawing at the corpse of an older man. "Sarah, baby, don't look. C'mere, put your arms around me." As Joel carefully unearthed Sarah from the mangled truck, you climbed out of the shattered window: Hissing as you shifted against your arm. Sarah tried to put weight on her leg, provoking muffled whimpers and cries at the attempt. Tommy, equipped with his shotgun, called out, "We gotta get off the street!" 

As you approached Joel and Sarah, a flaming police car crashed into the capsized truck, separating the three of you from Tommy. Tommy roared from the other side of the wreck: "Meet at the river! I'll find a way." Joel turned to Sarah, "Can you run?" She shook her head wearily. He scooped her into his arms, "Keep your eyes on me." Joel shifted towards you, "No matter what, you keep runnin'. Alright, darlin'? Promise me." You hesitated, desperate eyes meeting his, "I promise." 

The three of you stumbled through the alley until you came across a cluster of bodies scattered across the pavement, crouched figures grunting over the lifeless figures. The end of the passage was clear. The only problem was getting past the rotted creatures without being noticed. There was no way Joel could outrun them in his condition. One of the creatures shot up at the sound of a remote blast, eyes landing on Joel. His voice was firm, "Go." You grabbed his arm, "Joel!" He repeated his command, louder— frantic: "You can't carry Sarah w'that arm. Go find Tommy. We'll meet you there."  

You pressed a hurried kiss to Sarah's head, the deranged man scrambling to his feet before you could embrace Joel. You took off towards the other end of the alley, Joel and Sarah barricading themselves inside the vacant diner across from the pile of carcasses. Your body throbbed with every step, head burning with the fire of a thousand suns. Your feet carried you across town, weaving in and out of injured civilians and infected until you reached the river. The stream was pitch black, sounds of gunfire and cries rang out in the distance. 

Suddenly, a bright light blinded you: "Put your hands where I can see 'em!" You obeyed, raising them as high as your injured arm would allow. Your voice raw with distress, "M'not sick! Just trying to find my family!" The man stepped closer, seemingly inspecting your physical state. He was clad in military gear, "You hurt?" You shook your head eagerly: "Just a sprained arm." He nodded his head, "Alright. We've got buses that can take you to a decontamination zone." 

Your head scanned the vast field, eyes scouring for any sign of Joel or Tommy: "I- I can't. I'm supposed to meet someone here. At the river." The soldier looked dissatisfied and slowly lifted his gun, "The river goes on for miles. S'not safe out here." Your eyebrows threaded together in confusion, "What- are you- are you gonna shoot me?" The soldier's grasp on his automatic rifle tightened, "I'm sayin' you have two choices. You can either come with me or you can-" 

A guttural scream sounded from behind him. But before he could turn around, a pair of arms seized his neck and began ripping into his military garb. The soldier flailed wildly at his attacker. While he was busy fighting off the deranged beast, you took off into the darkness, wandering aimlessly and calling out for your family. That night was the last time you saw Joel Miller.

16 Years Later

The bitter winter air overwhelmed your senses until you were gasping for air, limbs numb and cold to the touch. You wouldn't make it much longer without shelter, without warmth. You'd spent the better part of the last 16 years searching for him— for Joel. Ever since that night, you'd scoured every independent civilization, every QZ, within mobs of infected. Each night, you silently prayed never to find him like that— skin pallid and overcome with fungus, head split wide open, cordyceps blooming from within. 

You'd trekked across the country with the sole intent of finding him alive and healthy. The journey was brutal— raiders and infected desperate for blood. But by far, the hardest battle was pushing away the nagging thought that, even if Joel and Sarah were somehow alive, you'd never find them. Now, after nearly two decades of searching, you were reaching the end of your journey. You'd officially trekked across the entire nation. If your estimations were correct, you were nearing Wyoming— hence the formidable cold front. 

You'd heard rumors about a small civilization located somewhere on the skirts of Jackson County— your last stop. You knew the chances were slim; that feeling only fortified with each city, each civilian who hadn't heard of or seen anyone by the name of "Joel Miller." But you kept searching— because the day that you stopped would be the day you lost everything, lost yourself. It was as though he held onto you with a leash. If you tugged hard enough, could you finally break free? What else did you have to live for? Maybe one day you'd have some sort of epiphany, something to make sense of all the death and suffering. For now, Joel kept your hope alive— the hope that there was happiness and safety beyond all of the pain. The very thought of him kept you alive. 

You stood in front of thick and rusted iron gates, your posture crooked due to exhaustion— Just one more stop. The sounds of cocking guns drew your attention to the top of the gates. A young man and woman stand there, rifles pointed at you: "Drop your weapon! Let us see your hands!" You obey. This is standard practice amongst civilizations— you'd done it a thousand times by now. Unsheathing and kicking away your pistol, you then throw your backpack towards the gate. Hands raised next to your head. Your voice wavers as you half-shout, "I'm not infected! Just looking for someone!" 

The woman searched your face for a bit, presumably looking for any signs of deceit. She nodded towards her companion, the corroded metal walls unfolding. Two men approached you and picked up your discarded belongings. The younger of the two roughly patted you down and checked for bite marks. When they were satisfied, they led you past the gates into the town square. The village was pleasant, a handful of people milling about in the slushy streets. 

A familiar voice erupts from behind you: "Please excuse the initial hostility. We need to be careful about who we let in... I'm Maria." She extends her hand. You accept it gingerly and introduce yourself. "Welcome to Jackson. You must be freezing. Come on, we'll talk inside." — Maria leads you inside a small building, the exterior reminding you of the Lincoln Logs you used to play with as a child. The inside is... quaint. A lone desk sits near the lit fireplace. Maria leans against the desk and motions for you to take a seat: "So... You're lookin' for someone. And you have reason to believe they're here?" 

You sigh, allowing your aching body to relax against the couch's plush cushions: "No... I am looking for someone, but... Well, this is my last stop." Maria nods sympathetically, tucking a lone braid behind her ear— "I get it. You've been looking for a long time. It's about time to stop. To rest." You can't help the tears that form on your waterline. Your gaze shifts to your lap. Maria continues, "Who are you lookin' for?" 

You swallow the fist-sized lump in your throat, "Joel. Joel Miller." Your attention snaps towards her as a wistful sigh escapes her lips. A tight frown dawns on Maria's face, "I'm sorry. There's no Joel Miller here." You nod; you knew it was a long shot, but hearing it aloud was something different entirely. You rise from the couch, "Thank you. I apologize for takin' up your time." Maria speaks up before you can reach the door: "Now what? You got a place to stay?" 

You honestly hadn't thought that far, about life beyond looking. For years, finding Joel was your only purpose— your rationale for remaining on this infested hellscape. You had no home, no roots. Maria's voice interrupts your thoughts, "There's room here. We've got food and water— shelter. Hell, we're even working on electricity." You turn to face her. Her words dripping with verity, "Jackson could be your home." 

Despite having just met her, Maria's words touched something buried deep within you— hope. Hopeful of a new life, of new beginnings. You forged a small smile, "Okay." Maria smiled, but it was much different from yours: It was toothy, genuine— "Alright. I'll give you the grand tour then." For the next hour or so, Maria marched you around town. She showed you the vast dining hall laden with maple furniture. The stables filled with mare and their young. 

Then she showed you the schoolhouse. It was a small brick building. The walls were filled with colorful crayon drawings. Tiny handprints were pressed onto the wall in various colors of acrylic paint. The dulcet sounds of innocent laughter erupted from every corner of the room. Children from the ages of 5-12 were scattered around: Some doing arts and crafts, some reading, and others playing with worn toys. A tear slipped down your cheek. You brushed it away quickly before Maria could notice. 

You couldn't help but think of Sarah. About the first time she knocked on your door— she was selling chocolate bars for some fundraiser at school. Her bronze complexion dappled with freckles, and her wide smile revealed a missing tooth. She was eleven at the time, eyes bright and full of wonder. Blind to the atrocities that loomed at every turn. Sometimes, you'd think about what she looked like now— did her curls still rest atop her shoulders? Did she still laugh until she was panting for air? She's thirty now... Has she fallen in love? That was considering she is still... 

You didn't entertain the thought. Sarah was fine, alive somewhere with her father to look after her. Maria's touch pulls you from your thoughts, "How about I show you where you'll be living? Get you settled in." As Maria exited the schoolhouse, you stole one last glance at the room. A little girl met your gaze. Her dark curls were pulled into two ponytails. Her burnt mahogany eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled, raising her tiny hand and waving it at you. You returned the sentiment, this time allowing the tear to fall down and onto the ground.  

Maria escorted you just outside of town, to a street lined with country-style two-story houses in relatively good condition. "This one here, the green one. It's already furnished. I'll have one of my guys come by later with some essentials from the pantry. Otherwise, you should be all set 'til tomorrow." Your eyes bore into the house. It was nice, but also... "It's big," you retort, "Don't know what I could possibly need all those rooms for." Maria lays the silver key in your hand, "You never know." 

You internally cringe at the connotation. Start over with some man? Have a big family and a white picket fence? You couldn't. It wouldn't be the same. You let out a shaky breath, "Thank you, Maria." She nods, "Come see me tomorrow, and we'll talk about where to go from here. Everyone in Jackson has a job, a role to play. Rest up... You deserve it." She departs, leaving just you and your great, big, empty house. 

3 Years Later

Jackson developed rapidly under Maria's supervision. The population rose from 50 to roughly 300 in just under three years. Jackson now had electricity, thanks to the Jackson County Hydroelectric Dam that Maria's team was able to get up and running. You'd become the head of patrol— in charge of organizing the schedules and determining the routes. You and Maria had become very close, practically family. She's the person who understood you, what you've been through. 

In an attempt to busy yourself and earn your keep, you'd thrown yourself into working alongside her. Not just with patrols but also with community relations and development. You'd completely reconstructed the greenhouse, built a jailhouse— that, luckily, wasn't used much— and helped fortify Jackson's defenses. Maria assigned you the title "community leader," but you much preferred what everyone else called you: "Maria's right hand." 

Your house was still too big, but now it felt homier— lived in. The walls were plastered with botanical paintings you'd found while out on patrol, vases of fresh cut flowers from the community garden placed upon every surface. Cable knit blankets were draped over the shabby leather furniture, the brick fireplace emanating warmth and bringing solace during the cold winter months. You'd even taken up baking in your spare time, frequently bringing baked goods to the schoolhouse. 

Nevertheless, when the sun set and the sounds of bustling downtown Jackson faded, your thoughts always returned to Joel. His bronze skin, tousled brown curls, and perfectly plump lips. Suddenly, it felt as though the house was mocking you, and the right side of the bed always grew colder. Perhaps it's why you worked yourself so hard; taking a day off was seldom. You couldn't escape the persistent feeling that Joel and Sarah weren't alive. That you'd failed to find them time and time again because somewhere, they were six feet under, buried in an unmarked grave. All it takes is one moment— one lapse between heartbeats— and suddenly, everything has changed.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

The spring air was crisp with morning dew. A gentle breeze slipped through the cracked bay window. Three heavy thuds woke you— the sharp knocks cutting through serene silence. Your voice was raspy with sleep, "Coming!" You quickly pulled on the worn terrycloth robe that hung from the bedpost and stumbled downstairs. You swung the door open to reveal Stanley, a young man who worked in construction: "I'm so sorry to wake you, but Maria sent me to get you. She said it's urgent."  

You sighed deeply, rubbing the remaining exhaustion from your face: "Urgent like, 'don't get dressed' urgent?" Stanley's eyes roamed across the dark fabric of your robe before snapping back to your face. His cheeks bright pink, "Oh, um... no! Just meet her in her office ASAP." Sending him off with a nod, you traipsed upstairs and threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before making your way downtown. It was early morning, the streets empty save the early risers milling about, getting ready for work. As you passed a group of older women sipping hot beverages, you overheard whispers of "an outsider." As Maria's righthand, you were expected to greet all incoming arrivals. How on earth that could constitute a crisis, you did not know. 

As you approached Maria's office, the woman in question exited swiftly, shutting the door behind her. You grew closer, taking note of her fidgeting hands. She was... nervous? "Good morning, Mar. What's the emergency?" Maria's face was sullen. You'd never seen her like this, not in the three years you'd known her. Your hands clenched at your sides, "Maria? What is it?"

She took a deep breath, "This may be a false alarm, but... This guy's last name is Miller. Says he's originally from Texas." Her words stole the air from your lungs, a pit forming in the bottom of your stomach. She said something else, but all you could hear was buzzing. Your vision blurred, the dark-skinned woman's features coming in and out of focus. Could it be him—had Joel finally found you? 

Maria called your name, pulling you from your trance. As your vision focused, you pushed past her. Your grip on the doorknob was bone-crushing, your knuckles turning white from the tension. You inhaled— don't get your hopes up. It might not be him. You exhaled, pushing the door open with a startling amount of force. You analyzed the man's figure, you recognized him— only it wasn't Joel. It wasn't the Miller whose calloused hands once traveled the expanse of your body, making note of each hidden crevice as though it may hold treasure. Whose lips once seared white hot kisses in the places he knew were the most sensitive— "Tommy?"

He looked dumbstruck, his lips parted in shock. Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck. It took him a moment to reciprocate your embrace, but once he did, his arms anchored you in place. He spoke your name quietly against the crown of your head: "I can't... I can't believe it." You pulled away, "I hardly can either." His hands rested atop your shoulders as his eyes searched your face in disbelief. His resemblance to his older brother felt like a gut punch. You were afraid to ask— fearful of the truth: "Joel? Is he..."

Tommy's hand squeezed your shoulder in reassurance, "He's alive. Last I checked, holed up somewhere in the Boston QZ." A warm tear slipped down your face, the salty liquid resting just below your chin. You'd checked Boston QZ, but recent "terrorist" attacks had made it impossible to stay longer than an hour without drawing the attention of every FEDRA soldier in that godforsaken city. Your hands trembled as you clutched your chest, "And Sarah? How's my sweet girl?" 

Tommy's face went cold— No. No. She can't— "She's gone." The taste of bile rose in your throat, "Wh-when?" Tommy removed his hands from your shoulders, "That night. Shot by some military fucker. She..." He hesitated, "Joel held her. It happened s'fast." Your kneels buckled, threatening to send you towards the ground. You fucked up— you let yourself get accustomed to the idea of her being alive. Repeated it over and over again until you believed it to be true. This was all your fault. 

Your shoulders shook silently, as if you were crying— but no tears emerged, "I have to… I have to find Joel." Turning toward the door, Tommy caught you by your wrist: "I can't let you do that, hon. It's a damn death sentence." You tugged at your arm, desperate to break free from the restraint: "Let go of me, Tommy. I'm doin' this." Maria stepped forward, her hand resting at the base of your neck— "No, you're not. Jackson needs you here. I need you here."

Your breathing became labored. Deep down, you knew they were right— you were in no shape to travel across the country again. You'd barely survived it the first time. Chest heaving, your free hand found purchase on your throat, tightly grasping and constricting the airway. Tommy wearily let go of your wrist, his eyes wide and filled with fear. You ran for the door; you could hear Tommy call out for you as you fled homeward. Sarah was gone. Joel was alone.

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

Days passed, and despite everything, the sun rose in the morning and the moon at night. You weren't quite sure how long it had been. You'd stopped counting daybreak after the first five came and went. Maria checked in after the first couple of days, worried that you hadn't been seen around town— or leaving your house, for that matter. Your grief was debilitating, all-consuming. You couldn't eat, could barely sleep, only finding relief at the bottom of a liquor bottle. You were tired… The kind of tired that sleep didn't fix.

Tommy came once. Sat and talked while you stared straight ahead at the empty wall. He could sense your anger, your resentment. How could he not? You silently judged him for leaving Joel, leaving his brother after his only daughter died in his arms. Tommy told you that Joel had changed. He wasn't the Joel you fell in love with; he'd done terrible things— But so had you. You'd killed innocent people, people who were just trying to protect themselves. And you did it in the name of finding Joel and Sarah, of surviving for them. You'd convinced yourself it was kill or be killed, and you had to live with that. Come judgment day, you'd pay greatly for your sins. You accepted that, too.

You only dared to look at Tommy's face once. You saw Joel in his eyes— you saw Sarah. Maybe if you hadn't left Joel in that alleyway, she'd still be alive. You could've protected her, taken the bullet for her. You would have, without hesitation. You'd cross the fiery pits of hell for her, reside in Caina, and be tortured for eternity. You may not have given birth to her, but Sarah was your daughter.

If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could faintly picture her smile. The dimples that formed just below her bottom lip. You could smell the faint aroma of her strawberry shampoo. Hear the broken remnants of her grandiose laughter. You swore to keep those memories someplace safe. Take them out and remember when you needed to, as if they were photographs.

A part of you wanted to be happy that she didn't suffer. She was too innocent for this new, heartless world. She was everything good in life. She was sunshine, sugary syrup, and pure, unadulterated love. But you could not accept this bright side. Not when it meant a life without her in it. Innocence is beautiful, but life is for living.

Tommy stood up, slipping a piece of paper on the nightstand. You cautiously turned it over to reveal a creased photo: You, Joel, and Sarah posing after winning one of her soccer games. You stole one last glance at Tommy. This time, he did not see blinding hatred in your gaze. Instead, he saw gratitude. As your glassy eyes bore into him, he nodded knowingly and left.

Maria came a couple of hours later with leftovers from the dining hall. Setting them on the counter next to the empty whiskey bottles displayed like pathetic trophies. You were in the same position as when Tommy left. You held the photo in your hands, thumbs stroking its frayed edges. Maria quietly dragged a chair closer to the bed, sitting just within arm's reach: "I went to a really dark place after I lost Kevin."

Tearing your gaze from the picture, one of her hands finds yours: "He made life worth living… It took me a long time to start to feel human again. To feel something other than pain and sorrow. The grief never goes away. But slowly, it starts to feel less like loss, and more like love." She inhaled shakily, "I know what you're feeling right now. I know why you're drowning your sorrows in that shit, trying to drink yourself to death." A tear slips down your face, her hand squeezing yours gently: "But you have to understand… What you're feeling right now, that's love. You're not a bad person for how you try to kill your sadness. But it's not gonna work."

You're unable to contain the choked sob that escapes your throat. The tears come harshly, scorching saline against your skin. Maria shifts her weight from the chair onto the bed, holding your shaking frame: "It's okay… Let it out." Her hands cradle your head, smoothing over your disheveled hair. "It's all my fault," you gasp between sobs, "I never should've left them. It's all my fault." Maria shushes you, "No, honey. You don't really believe that. You want someone to blame, but you're not that person."

Eventually, the tears cease. Your breathing evened out as Maria held you, "I miss Joel, so fucking much." You could feel Maria nod tenderly, "I know Honey." A lone tear slipped down your cheek, "Do you think— do you think he'll find me?" Maria pulled away, her chestnut eyes meeting yours, "Truthfully, I don't know." With a deep sigh, she squeezed your hand— "But I know he wouldn't want you to live like this. Isolating yourself from everyone else. You're allowed to grieve, but please don't shut me out. You're my person." You clutch her hands, squeezing firmly: "Even at my worst?" Her arms curled around your torso once again, "Even at your worst."

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ────────────── · ·

The warmer seasons passed with haste. A wintertide blanket of white gradually covered Jackson. Day by day, Maria and Tommy were able to pull you out of your depressive stupor. You had to admit, they made quite the team. Maria was ultimately right, Joel wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life a bedridden drunkard. But still, life without him was arduous. There wasn't a day that passed that you didn't think of Joel Miller. About where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, and whether he missed you as terribly as you did him. 

As much as you wished to focus on these melancholic thoughts, new developments began to bloom in Jackson. Tommy and Maria's blossoming love was hard to ignore and impossible to disapprove of. Watching two people whom you adored fall in love, it felt as though nothing had changed: No cordyceps, no raiders, just Jackson and all of its inhabitants. Perhaps you could find peace in that. When Maria told you that they were expecting, you were over the moon. Maria and Tommy deserved it, Jackson deserved it. Proof that the world is not over— that no matter the circumstances, mankind will prevail. 

You threw together a small wedding ceremony with the help of the florist and local bakery, the couple wanting to tie the knot before the baby's arrival. Joking about how "shotgun weddings" withstood the test of time. Something arose in you, a pang of jealousy— Envious that you and Joel never got the perfect white wedding. It disgusted you, so you buried it deep within the recesses of your heart. 

The winter was hard, the Wyoming chill threatening every crop that dared to sprout from the Earth. This resulted in you spending extra time in the greenhouse. You found gardening to be a rather soothing task, being able to nurture new life in a world marked by death and decay. It also provided plenty of time to think: Something that you did not relish. No matter how many times you pushed the thought of Joel away, it always returned. Whether it was at dawn or late at night plaguing your dreams. 

When you weren't at Tommy and Maria's house or at the Tipsy Bison, you were in the greenhouse. The small shack sat right on the outskirts of town, situated with the perfect view of downtown Jackson. The glass panes shut out the cold, trapping any warmth inside. You bathed in the basking glow of the sun, gravitating towards it as a Sunflower would. You weren't sure when thoughts of Sarah became joyous, memories no longer met with choked cries but instead with soft chuckles. Nonetheless, you welcomed the growth. It's how she would want you to remember her. 

You watched the clock that hung just above the door, a mere estimation of the time: 12:15 p.m. You carefully removed your dirt-caked gloves, setting them on the wooden bench beside you. Your stomach growled impatiently as you began the journey downtown. The air was frigid despite the sun's rays, the cold slowly numbing your fingers. As you ambled towards town, Stanley came jogging towards you: "Hey! Just got word from the gates that Maria's back. Brought some stragglers, two, I think." 

You nodded in his direction, "Alright. Thanks, Stan." The soft crunch of snow beneath your feet accompanied you as you approached downtown Jackson, an air of excitement and uncertainty radiating off of the townsfolk. It wasn't every day that Jackson came across people who weren't just blood-thirsty raiders looking for valuables. As you rounded a corner, you overheard a commotion, the sound of yelling. Strangely, it didn't sound angry or fearful. It sounded... happy. 

Midtown came into view; the construction that was being worked on was now abandoned. Immediately, your gaze fixed on two figures in the middle of the street embracing. That was... not typical. You could make one man out to be Tommy; his black curls contrasted starkly against his warm taupe skin. The other was taller and broader, his hair disheveled and graying. Behind them you could make out Maria on horseback, next to her was a young girl, who couldn't be older than thirteen. 

Maria's expression was borderline unreadable, a mixture of trepidation and relief. Until her eyes met yours, then her face softened. A look of tenderness emerged. Everything about this situation puzzled you— Until the two figures broke apart. The man stood inches from Tommy, his hands gripping Tommy's shoulders firmly. His face was sunken with exhaustion and hunger; a vast smile overtook his face. A smile you would recognize anywhere. 

He looked just as he had twenty years ago, only now his hair was significantly longer and his beard gray. His face was now littered with wrinkles, just as yours was. A telltale sign that time had, in fact, passed, that the world fell apart right in front of your eyes. Your fingers dug into your thigh. You surely would've drawn blood if not for the layer of denim protecting your skin. You knew you were grieving, but hallucinations seemed extreme. You took a hesitant step forward, still on the opposite end of the street. 

Maria beckoned for you. Your name seemingly catching Tommy's attention as he turned towards you. As the men stood side-by-side, it was impossible to deny. Their likeness evoked something in you— realization. You weren't dreaming, you weren't hallucinating. He was there, just a yard away: Joel Miller. His gaze found yours, eyes searching your face in disbelief. Your name left his mouth like a question, but it sounded like a prayer. 

He stepped forward as if he was testing the waters. You repeated his action, "Joel?" A smile broke across his face once again, causing you to break into a sprint. He jogged forward, careful not to slip on the icy gravel. Tears began streaming down your face, their warmth countering the icy chill. Before you could slow down, your body collided with his. His arms were tense, his hold fastening around you. You'd only dreamt of this moment for two decades. 

You weren't sure how long you stood like that. Head nestled firmly against his chest, tears staining his leather coat. His gloved fingers gently grasped your chin, pulling your face from its sanctuary: "Baby... Fuck, I can't believe it." His eyes searched your face for any sign of unease. He could find nothing but pure joy: "You found me. I searched for you, Joel Miller, for 16 years. And you found me." 

Joel let out a breathy chuckle, cut off as you captured his lips in a velvety kiss. At first, it was chaste.— A silent admission of consolation, twenty years in the making. You ran your tongue across his bottom lip, prompting him to groan as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. After a moment, a loud cough erupted from behind you. You reluctantly pull away, your forehead resting against his. Your hands cupped his cheeks, eyes glassy with relief and adoration: "After all this time?" Joel leans forward to place a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth, "Would wait forever f'you, Darlin'." 

© 2023 fragilefable do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

divider by @saradika

[0luv9]

forlorn || mattheo riddle

Summary: based on this request.

Beware: angst, fluff, slightly aged-up characters, Hufflepuff reader, sweet reader, she/her pronouns used, mostly in second person, jealousy, mistreatment, a little bit of blood, slightly commanding(?) and intimidating Mattheo.

Words: 7.8k (not beta read)

Note: I am sorry luv, I don't think I did justice to the request. I also apologize for taking so long. I still hope you like it, even if it's just a bit. @cat-loves-music

Mattheo Riddle, son of Voldemort, or Tom Riddle if you will—for a more humane approach. But then, there's no humanity in the way he's treated. Always an outsider, always a monster.

There is wealth to his name; after all, he is the only living heir of Salazar Slytherin. However, his blood is corrupt, shunned by the very people who kissed the steps his baby feet took. Looked down on by the blood supremacists and not accepted by the other side, the "good side."

Even he was tired of the same sob story. He doesn't even need to introduce himself; they already have a preconceived image of him in their minds. He could try to fix his image in an ideal world, but even then, what would he say?

'Hello, everyone, I'm Mattheo Riddle, son of the man who once threatened your lives. Please welcome me with warm hands.'

Too cliché? Yes, but it's true and the only truth he knew.

Riddle didn't even know why the name Riddle was cursed and didn't know what his father did that made everyone's hate transcend generations. What made their hatred justified and his hate a crime? He didn't know until it was too late.

Mattheo was raised by the only living relative of his, his mother's aunt—the one who died recently. The one who kept all this hidden away from him hid all the Hogwarts' letters, raised him like her own, and protected him until her last breath. She loved him but all within the vicinity of the manor. He didn't know the world that existed beyond those walls.

He knew about the world outside only through the books she'd let him read. He thought it would feel liberating to step off the lavish floors onto the rich earth. It was everything but that.

"But Nona, why can't I go outside?" he remembers asking that silly question when he was about nine. What he wouldn't do to get that naivety back.

"Because, my dear, there are people out there who wouldn't like you. There are bad people outside ready to punish you," he also remembers crying when she told him that. He didn't understand why people would hate him. He just wanted to try the chocolate frogs he read about.

He just wanted to talk to all the different animals out there, the same way he could talk to the garden snakes.

"But I didn't do anything wrong, Nona. Tell them that I'm a good boy. I can even give them some of my toys. Will they like me then?" If only it were that easy. His Nona cried for the first time in front of him then, looking at all the toys he had set onto her lap, looking at her with teary eyes, pleading, "I didn't do anything wrong, Nona, I promise."

Mattheo didn't understand her tears back then, but now as he stands all alone, those same tears fall out his eyes. It's useless. "They'll know that someday, moon pie. You aren't wrong. They'll know." They'll know? What a fucking joke.

Mattheo tries to enjoy the view in front of him, you know. But how can he? When his batchmates are out there partying and enjoying life, he's been a lone wolf all his life. Yet in moments like this, he seems to forget his old ways of existing.

There's not much he can do anyway; he's not needed anywhere. In fact, they all want him gone. Finding beauty in small things is hard when misery clings to him. There's self-loathing in the way he thinks about the night and himself. There's nothing positive he can say.

You'd think that he must've gotten used to it all by now. No, he hasn't; it only got worse. At least little Mattheo held hope that people would understand someday or the other. Every bit of hope was destroyed by the very people who would've feared him had his father been alive. In moments like this, he wished he could see the man, live as the son they paint him as.

He'd have someone to lean onto then, someone to call his own. At least his father would've loved him. But this last bit of consolidation too was stolen away from him when he got to know that he was a backup plan for his father. Mattheo Riddle was not supposed to exist. His father wanted to live on forever; he was the last option the so-called Dark Lord had, to produce an heir and have them further his cause, and control his life as Tom lived on his last lifeline.

But all of it died with him. Mattheo promised himself that he would never be the man they all expected him to be, the man they wanted to point fingers at. So, he stayed in line. But then he thinks, sometimes, maybe, what if—you know?

He simply stares up at the brightly lit sky, it's a shame that he's the only one out there to appreciate the scenic beauty because he's physically and mentally incapable of appreciating anything, you can't blame him now, can you?

Cold breeze in mid-August, how fucking ridiculous just like this life of his, so unlike his peers, who were out there partying and having the time of their lives, the music vibrating through the walls was like salt on wounds. He'd like to drink a few and chat with his friends but then again, he hasn't got any. And it's the bitter truth that he's not welcome there, he'd be greeted with nasty looks if he tried to enter any such party, they'd all glance his way like the ominous thing he is. It's times like this when he really contemplates it.

Mattheo looks down from the height he's on, no one would care anyway, the fall will kill him, might just give it an actual try unlike those previous attempts- he's been a coward all his life, never ready to face the extremes of life but he has nothing to protect at the moment, he's come far too long, life was never going to be worth it.

He climbs over the railing onto the brick ledge, sitting down for a moment, to take it all in for the last time ever. Mattheo remembers all the whispers that followed him, the suspicious looks passed along the way, those words of disdain- at the same time the thoughts of a happy life enter his mind, it all feels unattainable, in fact, he's so far gone he can't even picture joy, all he sees is bright colours when he thinks of a happy life.

Mattheo had desperately sought relief all his life, but the pain only worsened with time, it's only reasonable to want to end this feeling of hopelessness. The weight of his family's legacy feels heavy on his shoulders. He slouches over and looks down once again, sighing as his eyes shift to the ring on his finger, the other Gaunt ring, he slowly removes it- a pathetic heir he is, he doesn't deserve it, couldn't live up to the name, disappointing both sides of the world.

Maybe they should have destroyed this along with his father's ring but apparently, his dear sweet Nona thought he could change their fate, change the course of history, change the Gaunt legacy for the better, fuck- he couldn't even try and change people's perception about him. Even in this sense, he's nothing like his predecessors, incapable of leaving a mark, of changing the world, be it for the better or the worse. He's just fucking worthless- he fiddles with the ring as he shifts a bit closer to the edge, ready to let go of it.

"Nice ring," he turns around startled, "Mattheo, isn't it?" not Riddle? He hadn't heard his own name in a long time, no one had directly addressed him in years let alone called him by his first name. It all feels foreign, he simply nods not knowing what to say. "Do you mind if I join you?" you don't wait for a response though and carefully bend and climb through the gaps between the two rails, settling down beside him. "Hi, I'm-" he doesn't hear it, he's too focused on your face, you were dolled up, for the party he thinks, but then why are you here of all places? Was this some kind of prank? He steals a glance back at the entrance and the seemingly empty hallway, to see if anyone is waiting for a reaction.

"You know you shouldn't sit so close to the edge, you might fall down," you grab his forearm urging him to move back, your hand feels warm on his skin, it feels unnatural, his hands are always cold. Even though it's on him for a couple of seconds he can't help the multiple emotions going on about in his mind and before he can sort them out, his mouth decides to act on its own, "Why aren't you at the party?" "Oh-" you look disappointed, and he apologises right away, not wanting to upset the only person who had the decency to talk to him, "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked," he's quick to defend himself, it's a natural response after all but you only seemed amused, "No, it quite alright, I was just surprised by your voice-" "Is it that bad?" "Gosh no! It's just not what I expected, quite rough, it's nice," you are quick to shut him up, "And about your question, I am annoyed at my friends forcing me to try more drinks and all, I just came up here to relax."

"I can leave if you'd like," you add on as an afterthought, but you really didn't want to go, it was the only place with some peace, unlike the loud corridors and dorms, where you were mad at your friends and were in no mood for a party. "No, it's quite alright, I was just surprised," he tries to lighten the mood, repeating your words jokingly, it works, you laugh and properly look at him instead of the waters ahead.

"Haha so funny," you say in a monotonous voice, trying to act like you didn't just laugh but you can't contain your smile, and he finds it quite beautiful. You look down at the ring between the two of you, "it's a beautiful ring I must say," You compliment it again since he hadn't acknowledged it before. Mattheo thanked you quietly trying to think of a response that might not make you run away from him.

It's been only a few minutes and you've said more nice things to him than he has ever heard in his whole life, it's quite ridiculous when he thinks about it, seemingly you find it quite easy to compliment him. He stays quiet not knowing how to take a compliment, but you don't let the silence continue, you look around trying to find something to talk about and soon enough you start talking and he's glad, "You know about those plants right there?" you point to the shrubs at some distance from the castle walls. Mattheo shakes his head unable to recall if he had seen them before. "It's alright but now that you know, you have something to look forward to this upcoming month!" you smile yet again, cheerful that you have something to share.

"What's special about them?" "It's not the plant itself but the fireflies that live there!" Mattheo tries hard to keep up with your energy and pace, "Why aren't they out now? They aren't migratory, are they?" "That's what makes it special unlike fireflies that are present throughout the summer, these ones light up only for the last week of August," "I'll look forward to it," "You should! I missed it last year and then everyone thought I was lying when I mentioned it." Mattheo frowns, "No one knows about them? Not even the professors?" "The professors would know but it wasn't that serious that I'd take it up to them," Mattheo finds it difficult to relate, he always would let everyone know that he was in the right if the facts favour him because no way in hell would he let anyone see him in the wrong light, he couldn't bear to be in the wrong.

And it slips out his mouth, "I would've argued till they knew I was right," "I don't like arguing though, reminds me of my parents, they parted ways because they argued a lot, so I try to avoid it myself," his lips purse trying to think of an appropriate response, "Anyway, you are in Slytherin right?" it wasn't a question, you just knew, "I'm in Hufflepuff, nice to meet you!" you turn towards him and extend your hand with a smile, he can't help but mirror your smile, "Nice to meet you indeed." Your hand feels soft in his, he was finding it hard to let go but you pull your hand back almost instantly- remembering something, "OH right I forgot, do you like chocolates?" Mattheo was quite taken aback by your energetic self, it was infectious, "Of course you do, it's a silly question, I mean who doesn't like chocolate-" you stop midway and fix him with a scrutinising look, "Unless you are some heartless monster-" "Nah I like chocolate alright," "Good good."

You fish through your jacket's pocket and pull out two chocolate bars, "It's muggle chocolate," you place one in his hand, "Muggle? I've never had muggle candy," Mattheo inspects the small sweet in his hand, "You are missing out then!" you chuckle as you take the wrapper off yours, "I'll eat it tomorrow, thank you," He pockets it and looks ahead with a small smile, tonight's beautiful now that he looks at it.

"You are a muggle born then?" Mattheo can't help but want to know more, because how dare his fucking father go after your lot, "Yep, I was surprised you know? To receive the letter, I thought it was some prank but of course, after a few days I realised how real it was, couldn't have been happier, to be away from home." It's funny because all Mattheo wants to do is go back to the gloomy old mansion and here you were saying the opposite, the stark difference between the two of you was obvious to him.

You ramble on and he listens, it's nothing but enjoyable to listen to mundane stories being narrated with such interest, he finds himself smiling a bit too much, to the point where his face hurts but he doesn't care because you are quite the lovely company to be around.

Muggle-born, the same year as him, Hufflepuff, living with your mom- it's not the best back home he gathers that much. You were angry at your friends and were going to hold a grudge if they didn't apologise. He learned a lot about you in that one hour and learned a few things about him as well, he didn't know he had jokes like that OR you were just too kind to laugh at his bad quips, whatever it was he was grateful because you didn't make him feel bad or like a burden. Mattheo was glad that you were the talkative one and that you didn't expect him to share anything if he wasn't comfortable, also the fact that he didn't want to send you running away by talking more about himself.

He admires the fond smile you wear when you talk, the stars reflect a bit too brightly in your eyes, and he inhales breathing in your scent, it's surreal, the moment. Mattheo didn't quite think properly until you left, wishing him a good night, "it was nice spending time with you, Mattheo!" He wonders if you knew how much it meant to him.

...

He finds out your name the next day and sees you everywhere, it's annoying because he was tired since he couldn't sleep thinking all night about you and now he has to see your face again. Now that he knows you, he can't seem to avoid you, earlier it was easy to be blind but now, everything else seems like a blind spot but you. Or maybe it's that his head is not hanging low, avoiding looking up at people.

Mattheo got over the irritation rather quickly, discreetly looking at you, eyes following every movement of yours. But you don't look at him once, he was just like any other guy to you, the realisation both hurts and feels nice, knowing that you don't demonise him but also the fact that he's no one special either. And maybe, he can live with that.

He notices the large number of people you keep around, you are never alone, always surrounded by a group and you are always the one talking, you are clearly popular. How had he not noticed you before? But then again he knew no one in the school apart from the professors, he never tried to get to know anyone because of course his fate wouldn't allow that.

Mattheo seeks out the solace of the library to keep you out of his mind for a while but the plan doesn't seem to work when he finds the chocolate you gave him in his bag. He simply sighs, knowing that there is no escape, unwarps the sweet and pops it into his mouth, shutting his eyes, and recalls your sweet smile. Warmth takes over his body, it feels nice like this, he has to talk to you once again because that can't be the only interaction he has with you, not when it's all he can think about. He breathes out slowly, staring down at the wrapper and mindlessly reading the information on the back, his jaw tightens as he realizes his stupid pathetic feelings. Mattheo puts the wrapper in his quill case and tries to study with a head full of you.

...

Okay, now it was really starting to bother him, he practically couldn't keep his eyes off you, it's like a spell had charmed him in. He wasn't even trying to be discreet at this point, he downright stared at you from a distance, it was creepy, he was aware of that but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. Mattheo doesn't like this new feeling you've instilled in him, it's sweet and it's fucking uncomfortable. He finds it extremely difficult to get rid of you from his thoughts, so he gives up on trying and lets his mind go on autopilot.

The way you talked to him without any judgement in your eyes that day, the images of you repeated over and over again in his mind. Even when he sees you with someone else he can't help but think you are in front of him telling him a story, with those animated expressions of yours, but then seconds later he comes to his senses and sees the smile that's not directed at him, the one you gave to everyone, him too. He thinks it was your pity, that made you talk to him. He didn't feel like he was burdening you then but now when he thinks of approaching you, he knows he'd be burdening you. Your life looks no different, every day is full of joy, and you aren't smiling any less.

Why would you talk to him of all people? Perhaps, you only talked to him that day because you needed a change of scenery and not because you wanted to, he's wrong in thinking that but he's also deluded. It's the only way he keeps himself at peace, to not see meaning in your words, to not long for your company.

But he's a Riddle after all, some things just run in your blood, he has his eyes set on you and he finds it difficult to look away. New dream of his, and he'd like to have it, no matter how unattainable it feels. Yet he hasn't got a clue, it's all too new, and he doesn't know what to do, he'd like to have a plan but what would the plan even say? Go and talk to her? Yeah, like he's about to embarrass himself in front of her.

...

Your eyes stretch at the sight of him sitting in the library, alone but not in some deserted corner, he had claimed the whole couch in the centre of the room, sitting right in the middle, reading a book leaning back, a frown on his face. He looked intimidating, and to be honest, you were scared of him, the little beer in you that night had given you the courage to approach him, maybe your fate was too kind to let you find him that night but now your nerves were on fire.

It was no secret to you that he had been staring at you the past couple of weeks, but you couldn't understand the look on his face, his jaw was always clenched, eyes narrowed, and not a hint of emotion on his face. Was he mad at you? Was he the planning on-

No. You didn't like to think about it, you didn't want him to be the man they paint him as, he's just a boy, your age, maybe that's another reason why you hadn't approached him. Staying away because you were scared that they'd be right, you'd rather delve into what ifs than actually be heartbroken, your imagination brought you bliss.

But would it really be your mind if it would let you just forget it? You think and think, getting worked up over every little interaction you've had with him. How could he be evil? He talked to you so nicely the other day, even- even though you were a muggle-born, a mud blood. But when you see how he looks at you, you can't help but feel scared.

It really was an intimidating sight, your courage wore thin but you had made up your mind. You approach him cautiously, as you greet him, you start feeling jittery and flushed, "Hey Mattheo."

Mattheo jerked his head up as he heard your voice, surprised, caught off guard in fact, he didn't trust his words just yet so he simply nodded at you, acknowledging your presence, closing the book and setting it aside, all his attention on you. "I came here to study and noticed you," you look around bashfully before continuing, "I just wanted to ask you if you liked the chocolate I gave you the other day, you know the one with dark brown wrapper-" "Yeah I did," He stops you from rambling on, not that he had any problem with it but you clearly seemed nervous, he just wanted to ease your nerves, "Right so-" you quickly pull out a small pack of the chocolate from your sling bag placing it beside him, straightening up, "I'll go then, enjoy-" you are quick to turn away from him, cursing yourself in your mind, blaming yourself for making things more awkward than they already were.

Mattheo stops you in your tracks as he calls you by your name, you turn around, and he speaks in that cold voice of his, "You said you were here to study right?" you nod timidly, clutching onto the straps of your bag, he leans back and with a flick of his wrist, a table and chair are summoned in front of him, "then study," he motions to the chair opposite of him.

You were quite taken aback, you stood there for a bit before actually registering his words, and you quietly sat down, you didn't have it in you to disobey him, he was Mattheo Riddle for fucks sake, he looked and sounded like someone who doesn't take no for an answer.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you carefully sit down, looking down, not meeting his gaze, he couldn't believe it, you obliged his wishes? Mattheo leaned back fully, arms folding as he watched you, brown eyes capturing each detail, amusement crawled over his face as he watched you pull out multiple books all at once, various colourful stationery items sprawled out all over the table. You looked pretty like this, stray strands of hair framing your face, lips pursed in concentration. He knew how creepy he was being, so he opened his book again and tried to read but he simply couldn't not when you were sitting in front of him, he relished your presence and this was so unlike the others, every time he had looked at you- you had been surrounded by people, so it was a sight to behold, only for him to admire. So he did, in secret, glancing up at you, every few seconds.

It's been two hours and not once did he get bored of looking at you, a small smile lingered on his face as you closed your books and looked up at him, "How's that book?" you nod towards the book in his hand- the one he was supposed to be reading, "Good, good" he bites the inside of cheek as he lies through his teeth, "Got everything done?" he sets his book aside, fixing you with a soft stare, "Yes, I just wanted to revise a bit, I forget stuff easily if I don't revise regularly," you tilt your head a bit, his eyes were much softer now, and it made your heart flutter a bit, feeling a lot more comfortable than before, so you do what you usually do when you are comfortable- talk.

"By the way, did you study for the upcoming herbology test?" And before he could answer, you pulled out a piece of paper from your bag, "This is like the holy grail, a senior gave it to me last year, it has all the specifics, of recognising plants and how to make generalised guesses about their uses-" you speak in a hushed voice, slightly leaning over the table, eyes wide as you shared your little secret, "you can have it, I have it memorised haha" You bless him with that pretty smile of yours, pushing the paper towards him, you don't let him refuse the offer and start talking about something else, he gives you a small smile, and it makes your insides turn into mush, you bite your lip trying to contain your smile, eyes shy as you start fiddling with your hands on your lap.

You talked for hours, he was much more open this time, and the conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, it was you who mostly did the talking but he didn't seem to mind he looked more than pleased, he didn't like talking much, it seemed, so you filled in the gaps, made it look so effortless like it was easy talking to him, maybe it was easy for you but to him, it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. You two stopped only when the librarian came in and told you it was curfew time, your eyes widened as you turned to look back at him, an amused smile on your face, both of you got up, walking beside each other, not uttering a word till you were out of the librarian's stern gaze.

"I made you miss dinner-" your eyes widened further as soon as the two of you got out, stepping into the empty hallway, "it's alright, I don't mind," you playfully rolled your eyes at him, he chuckled at your antics, "yeah sure, but your stomach would, but- we can sneak into the kitchens, you know, sneak some food out," you wiggle your eyebrows at him with a sheepish grin on your face, he scoffs in disbelief, a fond smile gracing his face, "something tells me, this isn't your first time sneaking around."

"No, it's not," you chuckle a bit before continuing, "So, are you coming or not?" you purse your lips, looking up at him with doe eyes and he questions your motives right then because there's no way you didn't have a clue about what you were doing, "would be an idiot to say no," he muttered under his breath shaking his head, "I didn't catch that-", "Yes, I am."

You give him a pleased smile, you looked so happy at that moment, he was rooted in his position as you started walking ahead of him, he had to look away to catch his breath, "Merlin" he exhaled, a hand reaching over to his chest to soothe his loud thumping heart, and in that moment he knew he was a goner.

"Mattheo-?" you turned around since you didn't hear him walk with you but soon he rushed to your side the moment you looked back, you gave him another smile as he walked beside you, he looked straight ahead then, you needed to stop doing that because no fucking way- would he be able to let go of you.

You lead him to the kitchen, both of you cautious, well just you- he was having the time of his life, getting a detention would be worth it, just a small price to pay. Mattheo repeatedly stole glances here and there, the moment you entered the kitchen, you grabbed his arm and pulled his painfully slow self in, "gosh- you sure do walk slow," you glare at him, but there's no malice in your eyes, instead they are just amused, you roll your eyes when he just shrugs in response, moving over to the tables. Mattheo just looked at you with fond eyes, he was just trying to buy more time with you by walking slowly and he didn't feel one bit guilty about it, he felt a bit too proud. 

You sigh dramatically before returning to him with a small tray in your hands, "I didn't find anything else, apart from these blueberry muffins," your eyes wander around once more trying to see if you missed something, "usually there's still stuff left, that's weird- oh well, at least we have these," you give him a small defeated smile, setting the tray on the table, shrugging as you felt that muffins weren't worth the effort of sneaking around and that you only troubled him further. Mattheo saw through you and he hated that you were feeling that way, "didn't I mention this to you? I love muffins, especially the blueberry ones." he gave you a small smile, picking up the muffin, taking a bite, "yeah, that's good, way better than the dry vegetable and chicken pies they make." He didn't look at you as he said that, but you smiled, realising what he was trying to do, you wanted to cry, why was he being so considerate? You were now beginning to go down a spiral, of all the times you thought of him in the wrong light, how dare you even think like that? 

Mattheo caught you staring and it was hard for him to control the heat that rose to his cheeks, he cleared his throat, "What? You don't like these? Well, guess they are all for me-" he teased, taking the tray in his hand and started walking away, "Hey! No-" you rushed after him with an amused smile, "I want one too," and the tray was shoved back into your hands, "better not eat all of them, yeah?" he gave you a small cheeky wink, leaning against the table, finishing the muffin in his hand. 

Mattheo offered to walk you back to your dorm, he didn't have to insist much, after all, you wanted to spend time with him too, you easily agreed after a couple of tries. You two walked in comfortable silence, as you neared the Hufflepuff dormitory, you were thinking about how you'd part ways, overthinking about what would be appropriate and in the mix of it, you just gave him an awkward side hug, squeezing his arm a bit before mumbling a quick "goodnight" and rushing in. 

He couldn't believe his eyes, were you blushing? No way, he must be imagining things. Mattheo could still feel your warm touch lingering on his side, the scene playing over and over again in his mind, he wanted to scream out of excitement- he was getting cuteness aggression, had to be it, his fists clenched at his side as he stared at the door, for god knows how long, if he could- he would've squeezed you into a bone-crushing hug, but you were quick, left him speechless. 

He walked back to the Slytherin dorm without any trouble, he closed the door behind himself and leaned back against it, he was pretty sure his skin was burning with all the warmth that was flowing through his veins. Merlin, he was embarrassing! Mattheo sighed contently, a big smile on his face as he replayed the whole day, your smile- 

...

The next few days, you guys didn't talk at all, he was back to staring and this time, when you did catch him in the act, instead of pretending you didn't see him, you gave him a knowing smile and a wave. Lingering looks, and subtle greetings, were sweet, Mattheo was now on a new high, he couldn't get enough. But for some reason, he maintained his distance, he stuck to looking at you from afar, it felt comfortable this way, not wanting to taint your reputation by talking to you in front of others, he'd talk to you if it was only you but you were never alone. 

Mattheo starts seeing life for what it is, when he looks at the trees outside, the castle in its entirety, he feels like he is seeing it for the first time. How had he missed this? He finds himself back at the astronomy tower, he looks at the lake ahead, it was a sight to behold, and he is starting to appreciate the view, these days he didn't care about much, you were all he could think about and you were more than pleasant, it was as if the grey lens of his life was replaced with a coloured one, and it would be foolish to credit anyone else but you for it, and he was fucking grateful for it. The reason he was here was, that it was the end of August, and the fireflies you so damn wished to see would be out tonight, he came here just in the hope that he'll get to see you alone. 

He was zoning out when some movement near the edge of the lake caught his eye, it was you- with a few of your friends, his smile faltered the moment he saw some blonde Hufflepuff dude pull you to his side, slinging a hand over your shoulder, you all walked towards the shrubs and didn't have to wait long before the fireflies lit up and started raising above the shrubs. He was about to leave, he was mad for some reason, really pissed- but then he took another look at you. You were standing a bit behind your friends, who had all their attention on the flies ahead, you seemed sad, looking down, messing with the soil beneath your shoe, hands in your jacket. Mattheo could make out the pout on your face, the deflated shoulders, you then turned to look right where he was, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Your posture straightened immediately, the pretty smile returning to your face as you looked up at the astronomy tower balcony, having spotted him, you waved at him. Mattheo nodded, forearms on the railing as he leaned forward, a smile gracing his features, the anger leaving him. You excitedly pointed at the sky, and he nodded, you turned back around when your friend called you and he couldn't look away, he was staring at you till you left, Mattheo started feeling the warmth creep up to him when he saw you making an effort to steal back glances at him. He felt seen, fucking special- 

...

Mattheo still hadn't talked to you, he couldn't catch you alone really, it was starting to get to him, he longed to hear your voice, hear you talk to him- and yet, he didn't have it in him to approach you in front of others, it would ruin you, you thrived in the company of others, he couldn't snatch that away from you. Maybe if he was a bit more selfish, he'd do it, snatch you away from others, have you all to himself but he wasn't about that life, it was something his father would do, he's sure of it, go after what he wants, not caring what others would think- 

Mattheo feels like passing out when you deliberately look at him just to give him a shy smile, a flushed look on your face. He walks away because he cannot handle looking at you, the urge is too strong, to just take you into his arms, he walks out to the empty hallway, a hand over his chest- it had become a subconscious habit of his, whenever you gave him that smile, the one that felt like it was just reserved for him, yeah that one, he felt like he was in heaven, you sent his heart rate through the roof when you did that, it borderline hurt him since he couldn't do much to satiate this feeling. 

The longing was etched into his eyes when he looked at you, one thing he realised was, that when he had his head up, no one dared to look his way, he was enjoying that power for some reason, it filled his veins with something dark, he liked seeing people look down instead of him looking down, it felt fucking nice, and it felt even better when the only person that did look at him, was you. People averted their eyes when he entered the room, choosing to ignore his presence but the fear was very much evident, so he knew they didn't see him staring at you but at this point, he really couldn't bring himself to make an active effort to look away even if someone noticed. 

It was no lie, that Mattheo wasn't up to date with all the gossip and news, he just lived life passively but now that he was out there more, he couldn't help but hear the words that fell onto his ears, Yule Ball, huh. WAIT- ball dance? That meant having a date, who were you going with? Fuck his mind was rambling shit to him, he could not let someone else take you to a fucking dance as their date, no, he wouldn't let that happen. He had to get to you before someone else did, it was nighttime, and tomorrow's the weekend, approaching you will be the first thing he'll do after he wakes up, he has to plan shit out, you know, make it special and heartfelt, you deserved nothing less.

But his heart nearly broke when he overheard two Slytherin guys talking about you. The way one of them talked about you made his blood boil, his jaw clenched tight, nails drawing blood from his palms as they dug into his coarse skin, "I told you not to ask her out, plenty of guys tried and guess what? She rejected them all." the guy who was being talked to only scoffed angrily, "She's a fucking slut, that's what she is, leading people on-" the other boy just stopped him and Mattheo exhaled, a bit relieved because if it wasn't for him, Mattheo would've smacked the guy and pushed him to the fucking wall, "dude, come on, that's not true, all she did was smile at you when you gave her your seat, she's a nice girl," these guys were in the fifth year, he recognised that much, "sure, whatever," the guy walked away to his room, making sure to loudly slam the door behind him. 

Mattheo then gets up and walks towards the guy left behind, the one who stood up for you, when he stands in front of him, he sees the dude cower into the seat, Mattheo tries to speak in a polite voice but the anger is still radiating off him, his irritated stare didn't help either, "she doesn't have a date, yeah?" his hands were behind his back, over one another, the blood still fresh, "who-o?" the guy stutters out, looking around for help but no one was there- "You know who," he fixes him with a glare, before uttering your name out loud, "no no, she doesn't, rejected them all." Mattheo then nods at him and leans back, then finally he walks back to his room, allowing the guy to catch his breath. 

Mattheo feels relief wash over him as he lets the information sink in, okay good, you didn't have a date but then again, why were you rejecting them all? What if you reject him as well? Yeah, he couldn't handle that wound, he'd fucking die, he contemplates whether he should ask you or not but he's done fucking waiting, waiting for his fate to fuck things over, if things are going to be fucked, he'll be the one to do it. 

...

Mattheo puts on a black shirt and black pants, not caring to tuck his shirt in, the cold metal ring stings him as he puts it on, the feeling is grounding, he's doing something his dad would've done and for some reason that doesn't feel half as bad, he feels like himself, it was like something had possessed him, the confidence was unwavering, even as he stepped out into the crowded hallway, hands in his pockets, looking ahead, people parted, giving him space and Merlin, did that feel fucking powerful. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows as he approached the room you'd be in, you always were there on the weekends, with your friends and he didn't think before he stepped into the room, heads turning towards him in shock, even yours but the shock on your face was soon replaced with a smile, quietly waving at him and that right there, fed right into his ego.

He walked over to you in a few quick strides, eyes zeroed in on you, nothing else mattered at that moment, "Can I talk to you?" To say you were surprised would be an understatement, you were ecstatic, you've wanted this for so long, to talk to him in front of others, you never knew if you should because he might've felt uncomfortable, "Yes ofcourse, what is it?" you nod, a smile still on your face, "Alone," his voice was cold, "oh yeah, sure-" you step towards him, thinking he'd lead you somewhere private but he stayed rooted in his place, eyes never leaving yours, he stayed quiet for a bit, taking in your whole self, the bright clothes you were dressed in, the equally bright smile on your face. Then he looked over your head, to the shocked faces of your friends, "Alone." It came out as an order, he couldn't care less. 

Mattheo liked this newfound authority, he also relished in the fact that you were being so compliant as if you wanted this to happen and he couldn't be more glad, "Guys, I'll be back, you can go ahead, don't worry," you explained, seeing their hesitance, his unwavering gaze was back on you, brown eyes were intense. The apprehensive group slowly emptied the room and just went the last person was out, Mattheo muttered something under his breath, and the door slammed shut, locking itself. 

Mattheo cursed that pretty smile of yours before smiling back, "You have a date? For the ball?" you lowered your eyes to the ground at the question, a shy look grazing your features as you shook your head, the more he looked at you, the more positive he got. "Good."  He finally pulled his hands out of his pocket and suddenly there was a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand and a velvet box, he wordlessly handed them to you, your eyes were wide, full of amusement, face warm, you noticed how the lights around you got dimmer, the small mock firefly charms that floated in the air, you didn't have a clue on how he was doing all this without his wand but you couldn't bring yourself to think of it, not when you had him standing in front you, in all his glory, about to ask you to the ball, gosh you felt like you were on cloud nine, the guy you were waiting for had actually approached you? You had to be dreaming. 

Then out of nowhere, you hear your favourite song but on strings, you look down at the box curiously- "It's the muggle chocolate you were talking about, the one you said was hard to get your hands on," he shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal but in reality, he was finding the courage to finally tell you what he was feeling, ask you out. Your brows pinched together, as you noticed that all of it was a muggle, even the flower arrangement- the song, how did he do all of this? You looked up at him with an amused look. "No questions please," he breathed out like he was out of breath, you then smiled at him gratefully, and he quickly averted his eyes, his hand subconsciously reaching over to his chest, "Oh Merlin," he exhaled quietly, not being able to look back at you. 

He then slowly gathered the courage to look back at you, you were just looking at him patiently, the smile still on your face, Mattheo cleared his throat before opening up, "I have never been the one to be graceful but I want to do this properly." he inhaled sharply before continuing, "Ever since that night, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, I think I've gone mad honestly," He lets out a dry chuckle shaking his head, looking into your eyes, "I think I've taken a liking to you, your voice, your smile-" and then he interrupts himself, forgetting the little speech he prepared as he watches your smile widen at his words, "yeah that, more of that please," and that makes you blush, the genuine interest in his eyes, the way admiration shines in his eyes, you are so close to him, that you can hear his heart thumping loudly, "I'd like to have the honour of taking you to the ball," then he says your name quietly, "would you like be my date?" 

"Yes yes!" you couldn't be more excited, you are quick to throw your arms around him, and all the worries leave his body as soon as he is subjected to your embrace, he closes his eyes, pulling you closer, finding everything comfortable in your grip. His heartstrings thrum at the moment, it was embarrassing how quickly you got him flustered but he didn't seem to mind it. He whispered a small "thank you," before hugging you tighter, you just giggled into his chest and Merlin, did he feel like he had just won the lottery.

...

<<prev work: this love || mattheo riddle

[paymechildsupport]

JJK men x ftm!reader // how they help with gender dysphoria

-!! CW: dysphoria (obviously) , depression , slight body worship, body horror

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

s. gojo

(the entire care package)

ᯓ★ really does not care about your body or whether or not it aligns with the traditional 'male' or 'female'

ᯓ★ as for dysphoria, he's pretty quick to pick up on a shift in your mood. gojo is far from stupid, and being around you so much has made it easy for him to recognize changes in behavior

ᯓ★ ESPECIALLY after geto, gojo absolutely despises watching you spiral. the way you avoid reflective surfaces, the way you seem to fold in on yourself, how you begin to become adamant about bathing, the way you continue to keep layering clothing, hoodie after hoodie, even in the summer heat.

ᯓ★ after geto, gojo is determined to never stand aside and witness the mental decay of someone he cares about. he can't do this again. maybe if he had been more insistent with geto he would have stayed, maybe if he was more insistent with your health things would be different

ᯓ★ and he was, -- he'd notice and immediately check in with you if he saw things going south. you will not be able to get this man off of you, he will be attached 24/7.

ᯓ★he would NOT let you neglect your physical health: he'd make sure you ate, that you were sleeping properly. if he'd notice you'd been in the bathroom for a while, or were stuck looking at your reflection, he'd check on you, hold you, snap you out of whatever mental spiral was occurring

ᯓ★ he'd be on top of binder breaks: gojo would make sure you give your ribs time to breathe. he hates watching you destroy yourself just to feel like you belong in your own body :(( he'd also be more than happy to give you some of his clothes, -- access to his whole wardrobe in fact. he looooves seeing you all cozy and swallowed up in his big baggy clothing and he's so freakishly large that all his clothing would instantly obscure your figure in the folds. the fact that its his clothing that brings you a sense of comfort makes him so unbelievably happy

ᯓ★ man's is rich rich, like pay rate through the roof. you'd have full access to any medical gender-affirming care and gojo would be more than happy to pay for it. he'd throw money at you anyway, he loves spending on you <3

ᯓ★ periods: he finally has an excuse to buy extra sweets. sugar makes everything better, right?? he'd go out and buy an unholy amount of candy and other sweet thing. chocolates, pastries, everything. they're all for you, and if you won't eat them then he certainly will

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s. geto

(body worship)

𐙚˖° he'd deify you in his cult, his darling lover

𐙚˖° he loves you and nothing changes that, -- at least you're not a jujutsu-less monkey (right?)

𐙚˖° geto would eternalize you forever in his worshippers, you were their god, -- and a god transcended the planes of gender and sex. your body is his temple

𐙚˖° he'd make you, and everyone else, see the beauty of your body, -- regardless of how horrible your skin made you felt. there was beauty in this suffering. he'd commission paintings and statues and tapestries and a bunch of other stuff, all depicting you for what you truly were-- heavenly.

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f. toji

(non-sexual showering)

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ toji loves to take showers with you.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ he loves how physically intimate it is, how vulnerable both parties are

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ early in the morning before work, late at night when he comes back. especially after a particularily hard assignment, -- he'd trudge back home at the stroke of midnight, shivering, and coated in blood,-- a majority of it not his. he can't wait to just strip off those wet, tight clothes and hop into the nice warm shower. he loves the rhythmic fall of the water, how it feels hitting his back, flowing over his countless scars. loves the way you softly trace his muscles, drawing intricate shapes into his skin as you massage his scalp with shampoo.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ helps momentously if you struggle with personal hygiene. never once does he let you feel anything short of handsome :3

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ he especially loves it when you let him scrub you with soap. he's so gentle, running his large, warm hands over every inch of your body, cooing how beautiful, -- how perfect you are:

"My beautiful baby"

"There's my boy, my gorgeous boy"

"Look at you, so handsome..."

"My babyboy..."

(+ there's a 90% chance he has bigger boobs than you--)

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mahito

(he tried)

𝗓 𐰁˚𖦹 he'd meld your flesh into a nice big meatball and birth a curse -- don't gotta worry about dysphoria then :3

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r. sukuna

(the surgeon)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ he'd re-arrange your guts <3 (literally)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ like he'll actually lay you on a table and just start tearing into your flesh, splash around in your blood and other bodily fluids, and give you a nice live bisection

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ he'll dig around in there for a while, maybe move some things around, just to mess with you, -- reversing your intestines, turning your living inside out, overall having the time of his life, -- like a lil' kid playing in the dirt and digging up rocks and worms. except, - the dirt is your flesh and the rocks are your organs

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ most importantly, he'd rip your uterus out (romantically)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ that's right, he'll eliminate the source of all your problems, no more period cramps for you! (because he's just a nice guy like that)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ then, after he digs it out from the layers of meat and skin, pulling it out and feeling it around in his hand, -- he'll eat it :3

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ nom nom

+ diy free bottom surgery

++ free top surgery if he uses cleave / dismantle

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[bangchansdirty-slut]

"Would you like another one?"

Paring: Baker!Felix x Bottom!Male reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Brownie Boy decides to put a little something inside a brownie he made just for you so he can get a special ingredient for his frosting.

More: Masterlist

A/n: I wrote this half-awake today. Also, should I make a fem version of this? Anyways enjoy! And requests are opened.

M/n stepped into the dimly lit bakery, the smell of freshly baked pastries filling the air. It was well past closing time, but Felix, M/n's best friend and the baker extraordinaire, had left a light on for him. The two of them shared a special bond, one that transcended mere friendship; they were practically inseparable. M/n wove through the empty tables, the chairs on top of them, and the counters covered in neatly stacked bowls of freshly whipped cream and sprinkles. He rounded the corner to find Felix in the back, his hands covered in flour, his face beet red from the heat of the oven.

"Hey, Felix," M/n called out, setting his bag down on the counter. "You know you could've just texted me to come back later."

Felix laughed, wiping his flour-covered hands on his apron. "Oh, you know me, M/n. I always like to see you." He glanced at the clock, then back at M/n. "But since you're here, why don't you help me with these cupcakes? I made an extra-large batch today, and I could use an extra pair of hands."

M/n nodded, stepping up to the counter. He loved helping Felix in the kitchen; it always made him feel so… useful. Together, they worked in companionable silence, piping icing onto the cupcakes and decorating them with sprinkles. After a few minutes, Felix paused and leaned in close. "You know," he whispered, "I made a special brownie just for you."

M/n's stomach growled at the mention of brownies. "You did?" Felix grinned, handing him the pan. "Go ahead, take it. I already put it in the oven, so it should be nice and warm."

As M/n carried the pan over to the oven, he felt a surge of warmth in his chest. It wasn't just from the heat of the oven; it was the thoughtfulness behind Felix's gesture. He set the pan on the counter, taking a deep breath in anticipation of the first bite. He glanced over at Felix, who was carefully icing one of the cupcakes, and found himself wondering how long it had been since they'd had a night like this, just the two of them.

Time seemed to slow down as he took a bite of the brownie. The chocolate was rich and fudgy, the walnuts providing a pleasant crunch against his teeth. But it wasn't long before he felt a strange sensation washing over him. His cheeks flushed, his heart raced, and he found himself unable to meet Felix's gaze. "Um," he stammered, putting the half-eaten brownie down on the counter. "Felix, I think you put something in this brownie."

Felix laughed, walking over to stand behind M/n. "You mean the aphrodisiac?" he asked, his breath hot against M/n's ear. "Don't worry about it. It's all natural, and it'll make things more fun."

As the effects of the aphrodisiac continued to take hold, M/n found himself growing more and more uncomfortable. His heart raced, and he could feel a warmth building in his groin. "Felix," he said, his voice strained, "I don't feel so good."

Felix placed a reassuring hand on M/n's shoulder. "It's okay, M/n. Just relax. You're with me, and I won't let anything happen that you don't want." He guided M/n over to the counter and helped him sit down. "Now, just take deep breaths and try to calm down."

As M/n tried to steady his breath, Felix retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and placed it on the counter. "I'm going to help you feel better," Felix whispered, his voice low and soothing. He knelt down in front of M/n and gently urged him onto all fours. "Just like this."

M/n felt a mixture of embarrassment and arousal as he obeyed Felix's instructions. His heart raced, and he couldn't help but wonder what Felix was planning to do next. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Felix had retrieved a bottle of frosting from a drawer. "Felix?" he whimpered.

Felix smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, M/n. I'm just going to make sure you're comfortable. This will help." He dipped his fingers into the cupcake frosting onto his fingers before slowly, carefully parting M/n's cheeks. "Just try to relax and enjoy this."

As Felix's fingers traced circles around M/n's anus, his touch was surprisingly gentle. He started by just teasing the entrance, using his fingertips to spread the icing that was already there. Then, with a soft moan, he began to slowly push one finger inside. M/n let out a soft gasp, his body tensing up, but Felix continued to move in and out of him, careful not to go too deep or too fast.

With each thrust of his fingers, Felix pressed harder against the spot that made M/n squirm the most. It felt so good, but at the same time, it was almost too much. His hips bucked involuntarily against Felix's hand, begging for more contact. "Felix…" he moaned, his voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing.

As Felix's fingers expertly worked their magic, M/n couldn't help but notice the wet, sticky sensation that was starting to build between his legs. The aphrodisiac was doing its job, and his arousal was growing by the second. He could feel himself becoming more and more engorged, the head of his cock beginning to peek out from the folds of his foreskin.

Just when M/n thought he couldn't take any more, Felix withdrew his fingers and knelt down behind him. M/n felt the warmth of his breath against his sensitive skin before he felt the tip of Felix's tongue press against his entrance. With a soft, wet lick, Felix began to circle his tongue around M/n's opening, gradually easing deeper and deeper. M/n arched his back, moaning loudly as the sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

As Felix continued to tongue-fuck him, his hand found its way between their bodies, teasing and stroking M/n's engorged cock. He slowly began to jerk him off, matching the rhythm of his hand with the movements of his tongue. M/n felt like he was about to explode, the pleasure building inside him with each thrust of Felix's tongue and each stroke of his hand.

With a final, deep thrust, Felix pushed his tongue as far inside as it would go, and M/n felt the familiar tingle in his balls that signaled his impending orgasm. He let out a long, shuddering moan as his hips bucked wildly against Felix's hand. His cock jerked violently in Felix's grip, spewing hot cum across the palm of his hand and into the bowl with frosting in it beneath M/n. The release was intense, overwhelming, and blissful all at once.

As the last spurt of cum pulsed from his cock, Felix pulled his tongue away and licked his lips, looking pleased with himself. He reached over to the counter and picked up the bowl, holding it up for M/n to see. "There you go, M/n," he said with a grin. "Your special gift for me." He held up one of the cupcakes with the icing that had been mixed with M/n's cum and offered it to him. "Go on, eat it up."

Still catching his breath, M/n reached out and took the cupcake from Felix, his heart racing. He took a bite, savoring the sweet, salty flavor that was uniquely his. As he chewed, he felt a new wave of arousal begin to stir inside him. He looked up at Felix, who was watching him intently, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Felix smirked and grabbed another cupcake from the counter. He knelt down beside M/n once again and placed the cupcake between his legs, directly against his engorged cock. "Here, M/n," he purred, "why don't you finish yourself off with this?" He pressed the cupcake firmly against M/n's throbbing member, the icing already smeared with their combined essence.

M/n groaned, feeling the familiar pressure building inside him. He closed his eyes and reached down, using one hand to guide the cupcake against his cock. With a sharp thrust, he impaled himself on the cupcake, moaning loudly as the sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body. His hips bucked wildly, fucking himself on the cupcake as he came, his cum splattering against the icing and coating both their hands.

Felix leaned in, capturing M/n's lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He could taste himself on M/n's tongue, the tangy flavor mixing with the sweetness of the cupcakes. As their tongues danced together, Felix reached down and stroked M/n's cock, milking the last drops of cum from him. He continued to kiss him, their bodies pressed tightly together, until they both collapsed in a heap on the floor, breathless and spent.

Slowly, Felix pulled away, his eyes trailing up and down M/n's naked form. "Mmm…that was quite the show, M/n," he purred. "You're quite the talented performer." He picked up the tray of cupcakes and held it out to him.

"Would you like another one?"

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[whalesforhands]

swallow your doubt (gojo x reader x geto) pt.1

next masterlist

warnings: ao3 is down and i’m losing myself; i have a clear bias but i like them equally i swear; gojo

In more ways than one, Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru completed each other.

Darkness and light.

Black and white.

Yin and yang.

What they had for each other was more than a feeling, more than a simple friendship. It transcended the meaning of the much too simple word of ‘like”, or ‘love’.

It was always, always so much more. What one was, so was the other. What one could, so could they.

In other words, they were made just for each other.

But, why, oh, why? Why do you long for what couldn’t, shouldn’t be yours?

Your lingering gaze on Geto whenever he gently placed his hand on your waist to move you to the side whenever he needed to pass by you.

“Please excuse me…” He would whisper into your ear, the dull, calming scent of lavender filling your nostrils whenever he pressed himself close to you for that brief moment.

Your stunned stare at Gojo whenever he would unceremoniously shove one of his many treats into your mouth. Sometimes even purposely leaving his sugar-coated fingers in your mouth to perhaps spite you. His grin a little too wide when you obediently chewed, his pale fingers reaching to pull at one of your cheeks and cooing before leaving.

It was wrong. So wrong. Yet, your heart ached, yearned for them.

You craved them.

But how do you fit in what has already been completed?

How do you trace the calluses that mar Ge- Suguru’s hands as he watched you so?

How do you count the stars reflected within Satoru’s eyes as you both gazed up at the night sky above?

How could you continue to live with such guilt, such pining, such anguish?

Your hands shook as you watched the pair shove and tease each other, their forms slowly disappearing into the distance, with Shoko watching with a lazy grin on her face as she leaned against your dazed form.

A hot summer afternoon, a warm bench and a cute girl to relax with. Everything Shoko needed to kick back and chill, all she was missing was an ice cold drink from the vending machine. Should she get one with you?

She watched as your eyes glazed over, your breaths growing a little shorter, your hands moving to hug yourself a little tighter than usual.

“Hey.” She shook you gently.

No response.

You must be really deep in thought. It wasn’t rare to see you lose yourself to your creative little head. Wasn’t rare to see you dazed over in your imagination and giving Shoko free reign over you for a little while as she played with your fingers or twirled your hair.

She let out a hum, debating whether or not to interrupt your little internal debate, watching your pretty eyes shine before she caught a glimpse of the troublesome duo making their way over. With gifts in hand, no less.

“Yo! Feeling hot?” Gojo greeted as he tossed a can of cold soda over to Shoko, the girl catching it with ease and an easy grin as she felt the coolness of the can against her warm skin.

“And for the other lady… Tada! Your favourite chocolate milk! Fresh from the vending machine!” The grandiose speech went unheard even as the white-haired menace dangled the drink in front of you, waiting for your response in order to tease you.

No response.

Gojo leaned down to be eye level with you, sunglasses tilted down onto his nose bridge as glittering blue eyes stared into your empty ones. Ah, you were having another of your moments.

“Satoru! Don’t run off with the drinks I bought!” Another male voice made itself known before Gojo was roughly shoved to the side, a whine escaping the white-haired sorcerer’s lips as he absorbed the shove, nearly falling over as Geto moved to snatch your drink from him.

He gave one glance at you, and another to Shoko.

The brunette shrugged, “I bet she’s having fun in there.” Opening her can, she leaned back into the backrest and chugged. “You could try to get her out though. You succeed the most.”

“That’s not true! Suguru and I have a 50/50 split on that!”

“More like 70/30. She doesn’t even respond to you half the time.” A pause. “And why does my soda taste weird?”

Their continued banter went unheard by the raven haired sorcerer as he moved to sit beside you on the 2/3 filled bench.

No response.

He gently tucked a strand of stray hair away from your face.

No response.

He pressed the still cold carton of milk to your cheek. Watching with a fond smile as you slowly started to come back. A hand reached up to relish in the chill of the drink, to relish in the feel of his hand pressed close to you.

“Suguru.” You quietly greeted, lips slowly pulling into a cute smile as your eyes moved to meet his.

“Welcome back.” Your hand was now placed over his in another greeting, gently patting it before you moved to take the packet from him with gratitude.

(He wished you let yourself linger your touch on him longer.)

Suguru chuckled, watching as you pulled the plastic straw out and began to drink. “I should be telling you that.”

Suguru moved himself to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with you, relaxing in your presence as he searched his pocket for his now lukewarm soda. He’s still content anyway.

“And why is everyone on the bench but me?! No fair! Move over!”

His last statement was directed at Shoko. Instead of pressing Ieiri inward and sitting at the other end of the bench, the long legged menace chose to squeeze himself in-between Shoko and yourself, pushing you closer to Suguru as he fought off Shoko’s smacks and yells of discontent.

Finally settled uncomfortably with all of you on the bench, his long arms stretched out over the backrest, one arm even daringly resting over your shoulders as he crossed his legs and took in the afternoon sunshine.

“Lovely day we’re having!”

masterlist next

Notes:

Shoko still finds it hard to believe you aren’t taking any of the hints the two boys have been giving you. No matter, she’ll let you figure it out yourself as she continues to lowkey flirt with you.

You remain oblivious to the two’s very obvious flirting but, you’re not immune to Shoko’s charm at all.

Shoko, despite not showing it much here has made you flustered way more than Gojo or Geto ever have.

[skz-streamer]

Yes love?

Simptober Small Things You Do M-list

Pairing: Hyunjin (skz) x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive

Warnings: a lil baby bit suggestive ig

Notes: I WANT HYUNJIN >:((((((

-please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people

Word count - 547;)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room was steeped in a tranquil silence, save for the gentle rise and fall of your breaths. Hyunjin and you lay atop each other, both tired from the passionate events that had transpired just moments ago. It was in these quiet moments of afterglow that you cherished the most – the sense of closeness and intimacy that came from sharing your love so intimately.

With a soft sigh, Hyunjin stirred beneath you, his strong arms carefully lifting your body from his. He placed you gently by his side, and as he looked at your beautiful face, a warm smile played on his lips. The way you looked at him after moments like these always melted his heart, and he couldn't get enough of it.

His gaze settled on his favorite feature – your eyes. They were filled with a unique radiance, a look you reserved only for him. But what captivated him the most was the way he saw himself reflected in your eyes. It was as if you saw him as the sweetest thing on the whole planet, a side of him he thought no one else could see, but you. And that made it all the more precious.

His dark eyes, usually filled with playful mischief or determination, now held a different quality. They were soft, deep pools of chocolate brown, gazing at you with an intensity that was both sweet and loving. It was a side of him that he reserved just for you, a side that no one else would ever get to see, and that made it all the more special.

"Jinnie?" you whispered, your voice a tender melody in the hushed room.

He responded in kind, his voice low and affectionate, "Yes, love?"

With that simple exchange, you bared your heart to him, expressing what you felt in the depths of your being. "I love you," you confessed, your words carrying the weight of your emotions.

Hyunjin couldn't help but smile wider, his heart swelling with affection. He pulled you close, enfolding you in his arms, and the two of you became one. Skin to skin, it was as though nothing in the world could harm or hurt you. In this embrace, you felt safe and cherished, your love cocooning you from the outside world.

Hyunjin's fingers gently brushed away the tangled strands of your sweaty hair, exposing your neck, which he adored. It was his favorite place to be with you, where he felt closest to your heart and soul. He marveled at how pretty you looked, even in this disheveled state, and he couldn't help but think that you were his in every way possible.

In return, you held onto him, feeling the warmth and security of his embrace. It was moments like these that made you realize how fortunate you were to have Hyunjin by your side. In the quiet intimacy of your connection, you found a profound love that transcended words, a love that filled your heart and soul, making you feel complete in every sense.

As you lay together, intertwined and content, you knew that this was where you belonged – in the arms of the person who cherished you as the most beautiful thing in the world, a side of him that was reserved only for you.

————————————

Tags:  @eee5533 @mixtape-racha @cherry-edibles @ren0325 @felixvsp @hwangrimi @sanriiolino @painstakingly-juno @herarcadewasteland @dabiscrustyfeet @kai-jilee  @sungiesoonie  @slvtty4channiee @revelaffee @buckys-pillow, @staygirl86 @chlodavids @jinnie-ret @bbygrlhannie @rebecca-johnson-28  @turtledove824  @interstellarairwaves @yearofthetiger25 @minhos4thkitty @fiqire @backintomykpopphaseagain @liknws @tinyelfperson @aaasia111

[beautifullache]

🦄The Sims 4🦄

🎆PATREON ONLY🎆

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[imaginespazzi]

Hold On To Me

Paige holds too much and Azzi holds Paige

(In which a frustrated writer uses her beloved ship to forget about how badly her team played)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, Angst and a lot of Hurt/Comfort

Words: 2.4K

TW: Mentions of sexual content, light swearing

***

The sound of the buzzer erupts from the computer speakers, as on screen, a jubilant Texas team celebrates as if they’ve won the national championship. Next to Azzi, Caroline lets out another groan followed by a couple of very un-Carol-like choice words. But, Azzi barely hears a thing, her eyes glued to the screen, following every movement of player #5 on the UConn team. Paige's frustration leaks through the screen and Azzi has the urge to plunge her hands through the screen and massage away the creases forming on Paige’s forehead.

Don’t internalise it. This isn’t on you. Azzi thinks, hoping Paige’s ability to read her mind could transcend state borders. But it’s wishful thinking, she knows. Paige was the queen of taking responsibility. She’d be first in line to blame herself even in losses where she’d score 30 points, so it was impossible that Paige wouldn’t take a loss where she only scored 13 points upon herself. Hell, she’d take responsibility for that in a win. That’s just who Paige was, a natural leader who held the weight of the world on her shoulder. And sometimes, too many times, Azzi worried she'd crumble under the pressure of it.

It takes a little over an hour and a half for the phone to ring and it’d be a lie to say Azzi hasn’t been waiting for it. Paige’s name accompanied by their signature pink heart, flashes across the screen. 

“Paige,” she says softly. There’s no reply but on the other end, Paige lets out a breath. The bus in the background is filled with noise from the engine and from chatter from the rest of the team but Azzi focuses in on the sound of Paige breathing, erratic and uneven. 

“Paige,” she says again, her voice soft and this time Paige lets out a whimper. It’s quiet, so quiet and Azzi knows she’s being careful so no one else can hear it but it rings like an alarm in Azzi’s ear, breaking a part of her heart that only Paige can reach. 

“Paige,” she repeats again, “I’m here okay?”

“You’re not,” Paige says finally, her voice hoarse from holding back tears, “you’re not and I wish you were and it’s not fair.”

“I know, I know,” Azzi soothes, her own eyes starting to water, “just hold on for me okay? Just a couple more hours Paige okay and then you can come straight home to me.”

“Okay, okay,” Paige’s breathing is more even now and Azzi can tell she’s calming down, “I don’t know how long it’ll be. It’ll be late Azzi-”

Azzi cuts her off, “no time is too late for you,” and it’s true because when it comes to Paige, time doesn’t exist. 

“Don’t hang up yet okay, just,” Paige lets out another breath, “ just stay with me till I get on the plane. Tell me about something, I just wanna hear your voice.”

Azzi can’t help but smile at that. Paige had a way of saying things, without even trying. She leans back into her pillows, getting comfortable, “so I watched a video on how chocolate is made…”

Across the country, Paige rests her head on the ice cold bus window, closing her eyes and letting the soothing lull of her girlfriend’s voice slowly ease away the stress of the game 

***

Azzi wakes up to the feeling of feather light kisses being peppered into her neck. A hand is sprawled across the middle of her stomach and the scent of all things Paige engulfs the air. 

“Hey,” she begins to speak, but the words are stolen from her mouth by the feeling of Paige’s lips on her. It’s frantic and desperate and Paige pours every emotion from the game into it, scrambling for a release that only Azzi has ever been able to give. Her hands dance around, latching onto Azzi’s waist and giving it a tight squeeze, causing Azzi to gasp into the kiss and at that, Paige smirks. Azzi knows where this is leading and god, there’s never a moment where Azzi doesn’t want Paige, but she knows sex would be a temporary release. They need to talk. Paige needs to talk, even if she doesn’t know it herself but Azzi knows Paige better than even herself. And so just as Paige’s hand starts wandering lower, ready to start a dangerous game, Azzi grabs her wrist.

“No-” she’s cut off again by Paige trying to reclaim her lips but Azzi’s ready for it this time. She dodges it, putting a hand between their lips, “not right now Paige.”

There’s a moment, where the blonde girl stays still, hovering on top of her girlfriend and then a mask of irritation slips on. She rolls off the bed and when she’s standing, in the dim of the night light, Azzi can see tear stains on her cheeks. They’d gotten off the phone almost six hours ago, Azzi doing her best to talk Paige off of a ledge by keeping her distracted, when the flight attendant had said the plane was ready for take off. And as she observed Paige’s face in the light, Azzi knew Paige had spent those six hours spiralling again. 

“Why did you even tell me to come over if you didn’t want me,” Paige spits out, anger laced in her tone. Anger, Azzi knows, isn’t directed to her. 

“Paige,” she says quietly, sitting up from the half-laid back position she’d fallen asleep in, “come here.”

“No fuck this. I should have just fucking gone home,” Paige says, starting to back away from the bed. 

“Jesus christ Paige,” Azzi can’t help the rise in her voice as frustration seeps through, “I can’t walk okay. So I can’t run after you if you leave and I really wish I could because I really  don’t want you to leave but I can’t. So can you please just fucking come here,” she says, stretching her arms out as an invite. 

There’s a moment where Azzi thinks Paige might leave anyway but then her girlfriend’s face begins to soften. But she doesn’t move towards Azzi. 

“I’m being unfair,” Paige says finally. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m being unfair and I don’t want to be unfair.”

“Paige-”

“I’m being unfair to you. You’re going through so much and you can’t play and I know it’s killing you inside and even though you let me see some of it, I know you hold so much close to you because you don’t want to ruin this season for me. And I’m being unfair because here I am, I’m healthy and I get to play the game I love, the game we love, but I’m still such a mess and you’re always there picking me up and it’s just, I’m being unfair.”

And in that moment it clicks. Azzi understands the sudden hot and cold of the last couple of minutes and it clicks suddenly the maze that Paige had created in her mind. And if it’s possible, Azzi falls in love with Paige a little more. Because sometimes Paige was oblivious to just how beautiful a soul she was, the kind of good-hearted girl that even in her own tragedy, had somehow thought of Azzi first. And Azzi can’t help but stare at the angel in front of her in awe. 

“Paige,” she chokes out finally, “baby come here.”

It’s like a dam breaks at the term of endearment. Paige scrambles back onto the bed, rushed yet careful to avoid Azzi’s newly operated knee. She buries her face into the crook of Azzi’s neck, her tears freely falling now. Revelling in the feeling of finally being properly in her girlfriend's embrace, she whimpers as Azzi adjusts them so her arms are wrapped around Paige's waist and their legs are slotted together. Even before they’d realised what they were, Azzi had always known how Paige needed to be held. The brunette comfortingly rubs her palms up and down her girlfriend's back, while whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

“Let it go baby. I’ve got you. I love you,” she whispers to the hiccuping girl who’s holding on to her for dear life, “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

They stay interlocked like that for god knows how long and Azzi’s neck and her shirt are soaked, and her back is a little sore from the position they’re in, but as Paige’s tears slowly start to subside, everything else fades because that's the only thing that matters. 

“You’re hot when you’re frustrated,” Azzi says finally, when she feels the mood in the room shift, a smile playing on her lips. Paige’s giggles, face still buried in the crease of Azzi’s shoulder, and it sends a shiver down her spine. There’s nothing quite better than making Paige laugh, well other than making Paige scream that is. 

“Was I that obvious?” Paige asks, slowly starting to untangle herself, so Azzi can see her face now. It’s still stained with tears, but the cloudiness is gone, replaced by a sense of calm. 

“A little bit but you deserved to be,” Azzi reaches out to stroke Paige’s cheeks and Paige melts into her touch, “you were trying to hold it in for so long, it was bound to come out.”

Paige sighs, turning her body so she and Azzi are now lying side to side. She reaches for the darker skinned girl’s hand and entwines them together. They’ve never been very good at keeping their hands to themselves, always needing a point of contact. 

“I was bad today.”

“You were,” Azzi agrees. There was no playing pretend between the two of them. From the beginning, they had always been honest with each other, always held each other accountable and that wasn’t going to change, “but you’re not the only reason we lost. Don’t put this on you.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to us. We had a whole week and I thought we were getting somewhere but then we got out there and everything, everything just collapsed. We couldn’t hit anything. They couldn’t miss anything. And anything they did miss, we definitely didn’t rebound. It was just bad and I,” Paige pauses, scared to say the rest of it, to admit a truth she was trying too hard to ignore. 

“It’s just you and me,” Azzi says softly, giving her hand a light squeeze. 

With a deep breath, Paige lets it out, “I wanted to get off the floor. I fucking hate being benched, even if sometimes maybe I deserve it, but today, when coach benched me, for a second I, I was relieved. Isn’t that insane? Me? Being happy to be on the bench? Even for a second? That’s not me, Azzi. And it’s not that I expected it to be easy. Even when we had everyone, I knew it was gonna be hard but I loved that too. The challenge of it. But I don’t even know the team that’s on the floor these days and I don’t think they know me either. I didn’t think I could ever be out on the floor with a basketball in my hands and not have fun, but here we are.”

Paige’s words are followed by silence because honestly, Azzi doesn’t know what to say. The team was having problems, you could have never seen a basketball game and you’d know that. And it isn’t that she doesn’t know what those problems are but it’s the solutions to these problems that she doesn’t have. The guilt of not being able to help her team, not being able to help Paige, hits her and she desperately tries not to let it show on her face. It doesn’t work. 

“Don’t do that,” Paige says, reaching over with the hand not holding Azzi’s to poke Azzi’s cheeks, “don’t put this on you.”

“Don’t repeat my words back to me.”

“Don’t put me in a position where I have to.”

And that’s all it takes for both of them to smile. It’s always easy when they ‘re with each other. They’ll be having the hardest conversation, but it never gets too much. There’s a moment of quiet until Paige speaks again. 

“You didn’t tell me you cried after the Maryland game.”

Azzi freezes at that. That fucking article. She hadn’t meant for Paige to find out about her breakdown and she definitely hadn’t meant for her to find out like that. Her parents had meant well, she knows that, but the minute she’d seen that little bit of information floating around, she knew it was a matter of time before the inevitable confrontation. She’d thought, when Paige hadn’t brought it up almost a week after, that maybe, just maybe, she’d escape it, that even if Paige had seen it, maybe it wouldn’t be brought up. Well, her girlfriend had never been one to just let things go. 

“So that’s what brought on the spiral. It wasn’t a big-”

“Azzi I swear if you finish that sentence. You promised you wouldn’t shut me out like that.”

“You were happy Paige,” Azzi holds up a hand when Paige starts to interrupt, “no let me finish okay. Do you know the last time I saw you so fucking happy? It was when we won the final four game one and a half years ago. One and a half years Paige, I waited one and a half years to see you smile like that again, to see your practically glow with happiness. And if I’d told you then, if I told you that watching that game was a shot in the chest, you would have tucked that happiness away for me. I know you would have. But your smile is my favourite thing in the world Paige, and I won’t ever be the one who takes it away. I can’t and you can’t ask me to do it, because as long as you keep smiling, no matter what I’m going through, I’ll be okay.”

Paige’s eyes shine with tears again, but it’s different. Because this time, her eyes glow with happiness and love and adoration. She turns her body and leans across to kiss her girlfriend, savouring the feeling of being so in love and being so loved in return. 

“I love you.”’

“I love you more.”

They fall asleep with Paige lying on Azzi’s chest, her leg thrown over Azzi’s and Azzi’s arms wrapped securely around Paige’s waist. And so Paige doesn’t know how the rest of the season will go, how her team will figure it all out. And Azzi isn’t all that sure about anything regarding her knee. But at the end of the day, it’s okay and it’ll be okay. Because as long as they have each other, they’ll be just fine, just as they have been since they were 15, when a blonde and a brunette locked eyes across a basketball court, and found their forever in each other. 

***

A/N: I'm ngl, this was a bit of a frustration fic and it's a little all over the place but I think it turned out okay? Also I did edit but I'm sure there's mistakes so oops sorry. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoyed it and it brought y'all some happiness. <3

[illuminatedmysticc]

Is life a video game created by the mind? I'm so attached to the characters (main character, his mom, dad, etc.) and I remind myself that it's all an illusion, but I can't see beyond it. I'm reading and trying to understand it all, but I feel stuck. I can't remember the last time I felt free and happy like a bird. I'm sorry 😥😥

Hello

Life isn’t a "video game" or "dream" we just use those words to try communicate clearly

There is no life ( because there is no one / no individual you are infinite, indescribable, beyond everything ) just in the same way the tree in your dream isn’t really a tree (what is it ? Idk it just is and so is everyone in the dream )

You have to directly see for yourself WHO you ARE and don’t worry it’s easy , you are not a human and you have to transcend that all concepts.

Directly immerse yourself in direct experiencing

without trying to analyze and understand.

Transcendence does not require understanding.

Transcendence is like a fool enjoying himself

unconditionally. If you can enjov the taste of

chocolate without trying to understanding it, why

can't you enjoy whatever it is without trying to understand it ? - Being_is_IT

No relax you got this 🫂

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Final Chapter

Klaus Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having recently moved to New Orleans, you become intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: You wake up and make your choice.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood Drinking, Near Death Experiences, Love Triangle, Witchcraft, Kissing, Crying, Fear, Angst, Manipulation

Word Count: 4.4k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Klaus stands over your and Elijah’s bodies as he swallows the last few drops of your blood, relishing in the decadent flavor he only got a small taste of before. It’s rich and sweet, with notes of raspberries and dark chocolate, triggering his taste buds like nothing else has in over a thousand years. Draining you of this delectable elixir was what he thought he wanted most in that moment, what he believed you deserved after betraying him with none other than his own brother, his own flesh and blood behind his back. But he still can’t deny the dueling streams of tears now crystallizing on his cheeks as his sorrow dries in the aching aftermath of what he’s done.

Time always seemed to prove that everyone in his life preferred his noble brother over him; his own mother and father, his siblings, Marcellus, and now you. Even under the ancient power of a witch’s curse, he still couldn’t manage to measure up to the timeless charms of the great Elijah Mikaelson. For once in his life, he thought he had something special, a bond that transcended beauty and pheromones, one with room to embrace each other on a level he never quite had the strength to embrace in himself. If all that was a lie, if what you felt for him was nothing more than a slew of Latin incantations over a few candles in a warehouse, then he had no other choice but to make you feel the gut-wrenching pain that you caused him in return.

“Look what you made me do.” He mutters before looking down at your lifeless body, your hand still somehow reaching out toward Elijah’s even in death. The image alone is almost enough to make him feel terrible for what he did to you, for reacting as if this was all your fault, but he pushes that feeling of guilt down to the very pit of his stomach.

He’ll have plenty of time to feel bad when this is all over.

“Alright witch, show’s over… although I do hope you enjoyed it.” Klaus calls out to her with a smirk as the remainder of your coagulated blood begins to dry onto his chin. “Come on now, I can already smell your fear.” He disguises his regret by ignoring the two of you on the floor in an attempt to step outside of the circle, but is met with an invisible barrier, halting him in place.

It’s still up. But how can that be?

“Alright, she’s obviously made her choice, now let me go,” he bargains, lowering his voice to that deep, gravelly tone. “Perhaps you and I can make a deal.”

“Has she, now?” The witch appears out of nowhere, revealing that she’s been watching this entire time behind a complex cloaking spell. “Or did you take your anger and paranoia out on her before she had a chance to make a real choice, completing your own self-sabotaging prophecy?”

“Ah, you think that you know me, is that it?” He leans in as close to the boundary as her magic allows him, his heart pumping his own supernatural level of adrenaline through his veins, priming him for what’s to come. “Tell me love, have I wronged you somehow in the past? Obliterated some of your ancestors, massacred members of your coven? Or perhaps it’s more personal than that? Maybe I turned someone you love into a vampire, cutting them off from their magic entirely? A boyfriend or girlfriend, perhaps?”

“How did it feel?” She immediately deflects with a grin, casually walking around the circle as he follows her like a caged animal waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “To connect with someone on such a deep and emotional level before having them ripped away from you in an instant? And not just by some random guy off the street either, but by your very own brother?” She laughs, getting a little bit closer to the circle that ensnares him. “I can’t imagine the pits of despair that kind of betrayal would send someone to.”

Klaus nods at her words, silently acknowledging his hurt as if his actions hadn’t already made that abundantly clear. He’d been betrayed by his siblings a handful of times over the centuries, but nothing up until now had cut quite as deep as this, no matter how he tries to reframe it in his mind.

“It’s a clever plan, I’ll give you that.” Klaus forces a laugh, studying the witch as she slowly encircles him. “But not your best one, not even by half. Did you really think that you could usher in the demise of the Mikaelsons with something as trivial as this? Tear us apart over the life of some silly human girl when we’ve already performed this song and dance on our own for centuries? I mean, I’ve killed so many of their lovers in the past that I’ve honestly lost count decades ago. And I’ve certainly daggered them for much less, so as you can see, little witch, we don’t need your help.”

“No?” She stops walking and turns to face him, tilting her head with a glint of madness in her eyes. “You could have fooled me. You’ve left quite the bloody trail of destruction in the wake of your little temper tantrum, just like I knew you would.”

“As soon as this barrier breaks, and it will,” Klaus places his palms against the invisible wall between them. “I’m going to enjoy making you pay for this pathetic little attempt at a regime change. In fact, I'm going to take my time tearing you limb from limb so that even the alligators in the bayou will have trouble determining which body parts of yours they’re devouring.”

“And you said you didn’t need my help.” She laughs, looking back at you and Elijah. “Seems like I struck a nerve. And it won’t break, actually. The poor girl never made her choice, so it looks like the three of you are stuck there indefinitely.” The witch crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step back, keeping her eyes on Klaus until she reaches her collection of magical objects. “Pity.”

“Well not yet, she hasn’t, no.” He glances back as Elijah begins to stir, healing from his temporary injury just in time like he knew he would. “But I’ve learned that patience is a virtue.”

Elijah slowly comes to, blinking himself back into the realm of the living as his fingers just barely touch yours, twitching back to life while Klaus’ muffled voice echoes off in the distance. He attempts to hold your hand as he sits up next to you, feeling the cold grip of death stealing the very warmth from your body as he notices the bite mark Klaus had left on your neck.

“Oh, no, Niklaus,” he whispers under his breath as his horror stifles it, carefully gathering your limp body into his arms. This was his fault, all of it. If only he had caught onto the jealous expression in his brother’s eyes when he smelled you on his clothing that day, if only he had enough self control to leave you to your own devices after saving you from his men, then maybe you wouldn’t have ended up like this. “No.” He thinks of everything else he could have done to prevent this, to sideline his brother and stop his anger from getting the best of him like it always does, but realizes that it’s too late for any of that now. “You didn’t...”

He did.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised, brother. This isn’t the first time I’ve thwarted one of your romantic endeavors, and I highly doubt it will be the last.” Klaus keeps his eyes on the witch as he speaks to Elijah, his tone more jovial than ever.

“How could you?” His eyes glisten with remorse as his bottom lip quivers, the loss of your life weighing him down like an anchor, pulling him deeper into the waters of his despair. “She isn’t just mine, Niklaus. She was yours, too. She’s ours, she’s… my god.”

Your eyes spring open as your previous dreamlike state phases back into reality, taking your first new breath into this world, surprised at being thrust back into your body so quickly after walking through the ethereal glow of the afterlife. It was a beautiful and peaceful place, so unlike this world that you wanted to return as quickly as possible, but you get the feeling that the arms holding you close won’t allow that. Images of a long hallway and doors of different colors linger in your memory as you try to make sense of your new surroundings, figuring out what could have pulled you from the world beyond. What time is it? Where are you? Are you still dreaming? Where did the hallway go? Is Klaus still holding you, or…? No, that’s Elijah. It definitely smells like Elijah.

Your memory quickly returns to you in vibrant flashes of color and sound, blank spaces of lost time slowly filling in with truths that had previously been hidden from your mind’s eye. That night in the voodoo shop replays in your head, extending past the point of your original recollection, revealing that Klaus had threatened to kill Marie and her family if she spoke to you anymore just before compelling you to forget their entire conversation. He had also ensured that you didn’t fear him based on her reaction to his sudden presence, or based on the cards she had dealt you.

He was the King of Swords in reverse, and you had almost figured it out, but he made sure that you would never go any further in your pursuit for answers on the matter. Surprisingly enough though, he never had to compel you after that, his confession to you in the hospital holding at least half a truth. How much of your actions after that were a result of your genuine attraction to him versus the effects of the spell were still too difficult to decipher. Perhaps you’ll never know.

Elijah’s part in this whole plot feels less ominous, revealing that he only compelled you not to worry about your brother after the attack. You can hear him telling Austin to run home and forget that any of this ever happened, that you’d be safe going home with him. It’s surreal seeing flashes of your brother’s face go blank with immediate compliance, obeying the commands of someone he claimed to hate so passionately without an ounce of hesitation. It’s almost as surreal as watching Klaus and Elijah argue about you while you hovered over your own body for what seemed like an eternity.

Elijah’s tearful face slowly comes into focus as his grip on your waist and shoulders tightens. Once he feels you come back to life in his arms, a joyful sob gets caught in his throat as he hugs you in a desperate embrace, his heart pounding in his chest against yours. It takes everything he has to release you from his grasp, sitting you up to look at you as if you’re the most prized possession on the planet.

You stare back at him blankly, the amount of blood loss cramping your muscles and dizzying your head as you try not to mourn the spiritual journey he had ripped you from. Maybe it’s better that you came back. And at least he isn’t mad at you.

“Little Lotte, I thought I’d lost you.” Elijah grounds you in this world with kisses to your lips and forehead, almost as if to make sure that you still feel the same way against his skin as he strokes your hair.

“There now, see?” Klaus taunts from the other end of the circle, the both of you almost forgetting he’s still in there with you. “She’s right as rain. Nothing to fret over.”

“You forced her into transition.” Elijah states, glaring up at his brother before looking down at you solemnly, wiping the tears from his eyes and the blood from your freshly healed wound.

“Transition?” What is he talking about? And why is he looking at you like THAT?! You look into those charcoal eyes of his as they glisten with grief, morbidly reflecting the glowing candlelight surrounding all three of you. “What does that mean, transition?”

“It means that you died with vampire blood in your system,” he begins to explain as he holds you close. “Forcing you to turn into one of us if you choose to feed on human blood.”

I’m sorry, WHAT?

You give him a puzzled look. You can barely cope with the fact that a witch had cast this spell on all three of you, let alone that it maddened one of them enough to suck you dry until you took your very last breath. But now they’re telling you that you have to drink human blood if you want to survive, if you want to become one of them? You can’t help but stay silent as the gravity of your situation sinks in, weighing the pros and cons of your new dilemma as you enjoy being held by Elijah, quite possibly, for the very last time.

“Yes, well forgive me, but while our paramour was having some trouble choosing, I decided to give her a little boost. With both of our blood in her system…” Klaus trails off, waiting for the truth to sink in.

“Wait a minute, both?” You chime in, looking up at him as the evidence of your demise still stains his lips and chin. “But I only drank from Elijah.”

“Oh, I put a good amount of my blood in your coffee this morning, love. It was meant to protect you from any harm that may befall you, but it certainly serves this purpose just as well. This way I know that your body has already chosen a sire, already taken on the heavy burden of making the decision for you, which means…” He runs out of the circle and grabs onto the witch’s throat with a smirk, relishing in the look of sheer terror in her eyes.

“The boundary’s down.” Elijah whispers again, gathering you into his arms like he did the very first night you spent together, lifting you up as he stands to his feet.

“Exactly.” A maniacal grin tugs at Klaus’ lips before he shoves his hand inside the witch’s chest cavity, the sound of her ribs breaking so much louder than you thought it would be as it rings in your ears, painfully ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

You go to cover your ears to dull the sound, but instead choose to wrap your arms around Elijah’s neck as he whisks you out of the warehouse, putting as much distance between you and the witch as possible as her screams echo off the previously calm waters of the Mississippi River.

———————

In very little time, Elijah manages to take you past your apartment, bringing you to an estate in the middle of the French quarter, carrying you up a flight of stairs to an elaborately decorated bedroom before placing you in bed. A part of you wonders if it’s his bed that he’s laying you in, if he’ll eventually lay down next to you and stroke your hair until you fall asleep, but instead he pulls the sheets up close to your chest, noticing the blood on your clothes as it dries a dark shade of brown.

So much for that thought.

“You should be safe here. You can rest while I go and get something for you to drink.” He has the courtesy of disguising the morbid truth with his sophisticated turn of phrase as he stares at you with vacant eyes, realizing what you’d feared to be true.

You can already see his expression begin to change, feel his affection as it slips away, sense his love for you fading with each passing moment as the magic spell wears off just like the wretched witch had promised you it would. But why did it have to be him? Why did it have to happen so fast? Why did this spell, this curse have to force him into giving you hope by pursuing you, by challenging you intellectually and telling you everything you wanted to hear? Why did he have to pleasure you in ways you never thought possible all while making you feel safe, cherished and cared for? Why couldn’t you have fallen for someone normal without your whole world being upended in the aftermath?

“I chose you, Elijah.” You decide to tell him anyways, your palm finding familiarity on his cheek one last time as his jaw clenches with a pained sense of guilt.

“I know.” He takes your hand in his and squeezes it affectionately before placing it back onto your chest with a sobering look. “I’m sorry.” He turns away and looks down at his feet for a moment, then up at the ceiling, blinking a few times to stave off the recurring onset of remorse. “Perhaps it’s better this way. To lose the favor of my brother would be a much worse fate, although it wasn’t my intention for any of this to happen to you.”

A palpable silence creeps into the room, blanketing you both in the loss of what was in a thick and sickly feeling of unease until it finally becomes too much for you to bear.

“I know.” You whisper with a pained smile, your stomach churning with growing despair as hot tears stream down your face and onto the expensive silk pillow.

“Regardless, you still need to feed; but I understand if you don’t want to, considering everything you’ve been through tonight.” He expels a deep, heavy sigh, making sure not to look back at you before standing up and walking over to the door. “I’ll gather some of my sister’s clothing for you to wear while you consider your options.”

———————-

After hours of incessant sobbing and countless rounds of tossing and turning, you hear Klaus open your door without knocking, lazily leaning against the doorframe of your temporary bedroom. He flicks on the light and stands there silently, calmly watching you ignore him beneath the sheets until you finally turn and acknowledge him with a heated glare.

Is he here to hurt you again? To finish the job? To make you feel even more guilty than you already do for what happened? Like that’s even possible...

“I know I may be the last person you want to see right now, that we all needed a cool down period after what happened, especially me, but Elijah told me you aren’t drinking what he brought you.” He motions toward the full bag of blood on your bedside table, unopened and nearly coagulating by now. “You need to feed if you want to survive the day.”

“What do you care?” You roll over onto your other side, turning away from him just as quickly. “You practically killed me, anyways.”

“Killed you? Love, I saved you, I set you free! Have you not been paying attention?” He enters the room and walks over to the side of the bed that you’re facing, firmly planting himself on top of the covers next to where you lay. “I realize you may think I was a bit rash back in the warehouse, but Elijah would never have allowed me to free you from those shackles of compassion. To break the bond of the blind stewardship you feel toward your fellow man that landed you in a profession where you’re constantly belittled, degraded and discounted, wiping the filth off the arses of the ungrateful and untamed. When I drank from you, I saw it all… the rage you so beautifully depict in your paintings, the anger you choke down every time you speak to an entitled patient, the violence you keep at bay whenever a man looks at you the wrong way. It’s all there just brewing beneath the surface.” He reaches out and grazes his fingertips over your neck as you quickly pull back in fear. “I merely removed the filter that held you back.”

You push up onto your elbows, looking at him as if to determine if what he’s saying is actually true. Has the spell worn off enough to erase his urge to completely destroy you? Has it washed away the jealous rage that nearly put you into an early grave, or is this just another one of his moods, one of his personalities you’ll have to adapt to if you want to keep your head on its shoulders? “That was part of your plan?”

“You don’t live a thousand years as a vampire without learning a thing or two about death and its many loopholes.” He smirks. “This isn’t the first time a witch has tried to ensnare me and my family, but this one just so happened to make a mistake with her spell. She had counted solely on my rage to destroy you and turn my brother against me in the process, but beneath all the magic she imbued upon us, my desire to make you a vampire ultimately won out. I knew you’d drink that coffee I brought you, and after I saw you drink from Elijah so eagerly, well, it gave me free reign to make her think it was curtains for you.”

“So you killed me? Do you know how fucking scary that was?!” Is he serious?

“Oh, don’t be cross, love. The witch wanted blood, so I had to give it to her, just not in the way she expected… right before I ripped her heart out and ate it in front of her dying eyes for what she did to all three of us.”

Your own eyes widen as he describes his actions while you try your best to see things from his oddly optimistic point of view.

At least he isn’t trying to murder you anymore.

“What I’m trying to say is that I knew I wanted to turn you from the very first moment I saw you, witch’s curse or no. You have the potential to be powerful, fierce and terrible by my side if you’d only let me teach you how. You wouldn’t have to worry about trivial things like money, food or a job for the rest of your long life. I could show you the world, we could paint portraits and landscapes in every corner of the world: Paris, Tokyo, Berlin, Costa Rica, anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you there. But first you have to drink.”

He brings a mug of warm blood up to your face that you didn’t even notice he was holding this entire time, surprising you for the umpteenth time today.

“And if I do… and I turn into a vampire, I just have to deal with Elijah being here this whole time? For all eternity?” You turn your head and glance toward the door. “I don’t know if I can deal with that on a daily basis, I mean, you guys both live here, right?”

Klaus smirks. “What you feel for Elijah will pass, no matter what that decrepit old witch told you, and I could simply compel you to forget your romantic feelings for him if you’d like, make it simple. Or I could just dagger him for the first few years, keep him locked away in a box so he won’t bother you, then by the time you’ve honed all your new skills, I’ll let you pull the blade out yourself if you so choose.”

He scoots in closer as you take the mug into your hands, watching as you blow on the warm, viscous liquid before bringing it up to your mouth. That smirk of his curls into a grin as he touches the bottom of the mug with his fingers just enough to tip it toward your lips as they open enough to drink. “That’s it, just a few sips.”

You feel a building desire to do as he tells you, despite everything he’s done to you and everyone else around you tonight, almost as if you owe him something. It’s not the same as the compulsion you remember from before, but something deeply rooted in you that you can’t quite explain as the blood pours past your lips and over your tongue. His eyes hold you fast as he watches you swallow, allowing the lifesource of some other human to spill down your throat and into your stomach, bonding you to him forever.

“Good girl.” He eventually takes the mug away from you after you take a few more sips, setting it down on the bedside table with a delicacy you didn’t know he was capable of.

“How did you get me to do that? You didn’t compel me.” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, looking up at him dumbfoundedly. “Why did I listen to you and not Elijah? He’s been trying to get me to drink for hours.”

“Well, I don’t need to compel you, love, I’m your sire. You’ll always have a desire to please me, to do as I say.” He leans forward and gently grabs hold of your chin, wiping a droplet of blood off your bottom lip that you missed, his sudden gentleness giving you emotional whiplash. “Did I fail to mention that?”

“My sire? But I thought I chose Elijah, I chose the blue door.” You recall out loud, remembering your out of body experience when you were walking the fine line between life and death. “When I was out, when I was dead and I was coming back, there was a red door and a blue door, and I walked through the blue door thinking that was going to be…”

“Elijah isn’t as virtuous as he pretends to be, I’m afraid. He’s just as cold and ruthless as I am, only he hides behind his manners and freshly ironed suits, whereas I’ve grown to embrace it.” His hand traces the outline of your jaw, his fingers feathering down your neck and shoulders as a trail of goosebumps flashes up your arm. “He wanted to keep you from this, to hold you back from what you were meant to be, but I wouldn’t allow it.” He takes your hand in his and squeezes. “Now, why don’t we get you something more fresh to sink your teeth into?”

-------------------------

@hcqwxrtss123 @hayleym1234 @derangedangel @spnaquakindgdom @natalie668 @arbesa-mind @wolfdragon0424

@meneatervv @honeybee54321 @captainweasleybarnes @spideybv28 @babyblue01805

[fumifooms]

i know you aren't really into marcille/laios any longer, but since you went looking online for dungeon meshi doujins, did you happen to find any other marcille/laios ones? (funnily enough at the convention i was at a couple weeks back they had like five, but they were extremely over-exaggerated and personally i prefer my fan content relatively in character...)

Ok first of all: Yeah listen laimar doesn’t have a grip on me anymore but I still quite enjoy it! Just more passively… Altho I do have an analysis that focuses a lot on the importance they hold to each other in my early stage wips drafts, and listen in canon I do think they’re queerplatonic flavored, call me an ot3 qpr truther because Laios Marcille and Falin have a something going on and it transcends being put into a box. But hey hey I reblog laimar artworks I bought that recent doujin I put laimar fics in my -checks- 106 pages long to-read list… Also I have like 5 pages of fanfic prompts for them I may or may not get to writing. Though yeah I do feel bad whenever I notice people following after liking all my laimar posts haha

Sadly to get to the meat of the topic, not really… I don’t go to cons for lack of opportunity so whatever I find is through online. The one I got is The Fourth Basement Floor, it has an english ver and seems so so very in character I can’t wait to get it! Otherwise I’ve looked on Otakurepublic & Doujinrepublic since I use their services for merch from Japan, warning if you click on the link, there are 18+ ones and covers can be pretty explicit. I don’t remember any other laimar one except the one nsfw one I think, but on the plus side there are a lot of gen no ships doujins. I’m bothered because looking back I feel like the catalogue of doujins was wider when I looked all those months ago and it feels like I’m forgetting something hmm… I wish I could help more, but yeah 😔 Pixiv has many laimar comics up (in japanese) if that sates the hunger any

As consolation since I’m already here, why not show some of my laimar things laying around gathering dust I’m fond of. Don’t look if you don’t want to be spoiled for fics I may or may not write I guess? All down below is just laimar prompts

I spoke about some various ones and esp my timeline where she gets him into Daltian Clan here. "Laios… I was wondering, because you enjoy fantasy stories right? I was wondering if you’d like to give my favorite book series a go… It has monsters!" I love love love post-canon laimar where he gets the habit of chewing on her hair because he’s stimming and hungry. Like a goat.

Laios goes to Marcille for love advice.  "You like someone?! Do I know them?" She eagerly asked. "Erm… Yes…?" // Post-canon. He’s so nervous and puts his foot in his mouth n lets things slip out that he thought would give him away. (Comic) "You like someone??! What are they like? Who are they?" And he’s like "Well… She’s a half-elf." He’s like shit she’ll probably know right away. And she goes still. "I’ve never met another half-elf!! We’re so rare! You’re saying you met one and didn’t tell me???!" She’s shaking him. And then she goes still again, contempt drawing on her face. "Wait… Are you asking me for advice because I’m a half-elf?" Laios runs with it "Yes!! And because you’re so savvy with romance and what people like…? If, uh, if you were a half-elf, what would you like to get as a gift? What sort of confession would you want?" "… You saved it there. Okay so since I’m so knowledgeable on romance, tell me what is she like?" "-describes Marcille-" She nods, smug yet oblivious. "Aah I can already tell we’d be great friends. Good taste." (then Thinking bubble with him giving her flowers at a restaurant "Did you know roses are edible and used in recipes", candlelit dinner, or wait maybe the most romantic is cooking together alone at home, chocolate! It’s expensive though… Wait I’m king now!)

Lil comic, Laios wakes up snuggled against Marcille’s back then promptly falls off the bed. The noise makes Marcille wake up and she’s like omg are u ok?? Laios is so sweaty and panicked and in denial about her being special to him.  She explains, disgruntled at the memory "Izutsumi is bunking in with Chilchuck again, they’re taking the whole bedrolls." Pause. "Sorry, I should have told you, but you like sleeping with Izutsumi too so I figured…" She looked sheepish. "Between you and Senshi, I much prefer sleeping with you. It feels sort of nostalgic, like a sleepover, no?" He relaxes and gets in the bed again, smiling. "But… We’ve never had a sleepover?" She chuckles "I guess not. I must be getting that impression because of Falin…" And the air between them is warm yet bittersweet now, as she smiles like that and his eyes and smile cloud over. The earlier instinctive reluctance to touch is gone now. She snuggles into his arms and is like "Hug me?" "Okay." And he does, wraps his arms around her and tucks his chin over her head.

Post canon, marcille takes him to a squid restaurant. Cute lighthearted hehe. He sulks "If there are any parasites in this I will ban squid from this kingdom or so help me…"

Short post canon fluff marcille pov about laios gaining weight n becoming chubby. She used to dream of chiseled abs and angular elves, laios in every way, shape and form is so far from the beauty standards she idealized so. And yet… She loves how soft sleeping against him is, how much there’s more of him for her to hug and nuzzle her face in. She loves seeing him and seeing someone strong, who isn’t malnourished or underweight, someone healthy with color in their skin. An healthy appetite. He used to look more like a rectangle, severe and strict, but now he looked rounder, and seeing him smile at her always made her feel like that roundness suited him. She smiled back, and melted thinking about how her boyfriend was the sweetest in the world. ^I still wanna do this one really bad. Sometimes a fic premise comes from nowhere and puts you in a chokehold and you must finish it to obtain catharsis

Short oneshot about laios musing about Marcille’s smile, how important it is to him in subtle ways etc: Ends with Laios being like wait there’s something off (succubus). Then he grabbed her throat. Or smth

Laios seeing her dungeon like "this is so wrong Marcille you can’t run a dungeon for shit" and also "WHAT ARE THESE HORRORS OF MONSTERS NOO THEY CAN’T BE EFFECTIVE LIKE THAT"

Dinner for two: Very warm. Marcille and Laios are meeting up and cooking a dinner just for them both, no one else is there. They’re being so domestic and it’s light. Laios pauses at some point, doing the dishes, saying… I’ve always worried, thinking doing things like these would remind me of my parents.

Laios doesn’t know what to do when he realizes he actually *likes* likes Marcille, so he avoids her. Everyone notices and is disapproving of him.

Her mana acts up and she shares her dream with someone, kinda like with Izutsumi. Listen the premise could be smutty but I think it’d be more fun if they just hanged out n were silly, like the nightmares chapter without the nightmare

Laimar pining but from the view of Chilchuck, his love hatred sensing a storm brewing. The giggling, the looks. Ugh! It reminded him of himself and his wife when they were young and newly dating.

I love Laios and Izu being worsties so. Laios sees izutsumi rubbing her scent on marcille’s clothes and gets possessive. Maybe Golden Kingdom maybe something else I have no clue but Laios being ridiculous and cheek rubbing or something <3

I might want to do an AU where Laios gets into werebeast ring fighting, before canon and the split happens after he deserts the military. So he’s alone, has nothing going for him and stumbles into that sphere and gets werebeast tattoos done. It doesn’t make him happier at all and fighting sucks actually, but it brings money and he likes being a beast and being cheered by a crowd aka illusion of being liked, and money brings food and eating is the privilege of the living etc etc. So then when he goes to check on Falin at the academy it’s a big AU where he has a whole other reputation and look to him, and when he meets izutsumi their relationship is different and aaaaaa… He’s freeer in this au, lets himself be animalistic and weird, even though ofc the arc is him letting himself be more human as well and connecting with humans, through talking and infodumping n shit. Oh I went off but the laimar is because it’s inspired by cool laimar art here (warning tho it’s an art dump with toudencest also 😔) but werewolf Laios laimar AUs… A lotta fun stuff there idk idk